


as we always were

by Evoxine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Anal Sex, Breathplay, Childhood Friends, Drama & Romance, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage pacts, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 14:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: At the young age of eight, Sehun befriends Jongin and they become the best of friends. Now they're thirty-three and they've been through everything together, the highs and the lows and everything in-between.Well, almost everything. They'll get there, eventually.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlightlessEggsxo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightlessEggsxo/gifts).



> Writing this was... cathartic, in a sense.  
> Thank you ♡
> 
> Prompt (that I changed a little): Jongin and Sehun aren’t really good friends, but know one another due to their mutual friend group. As everyone moves on from college and starts settling down, the two find themselves spending more time together. They make a deal that if they are both still single by 30 then they will get married to one another. With the deal made, the two end up relying on one another for everything. Jongin has to go out of town for business? Sehun stays at his apartment go take care of his dogs. Sehun gets kept over at work too long? Jongin will go pick Vivi up so the puppet isn’t alone for too long. End up being each other’s dates to events and dinners. Know each other’s families. Very close then realize they are basically together anyways. Tons of smut too. Dom!Jongin and Sub!Sehun when the mood calls for it. Sometimes they switch. Choking, lingerie, toys, teasing. If that’s alright with you!!

_Twenty-Five Years Ago_

An exact week before the start of the new school year, Sehun rises up on his tippy toes and peers out of his bedroom window just in time to see a huge truck trundle up to the house next door. Curious and excited, he fights against the ache in his feet, eyes wide as he watches furniture and boxes being moved from the truck into the house.

“Momma! We’re gonna have neighbours!”

The house next door has been vacant for over a year, due to the slump in the economy and how far from the heart of the city this suburb is. Ever since the previous family moved out, Sehun has been wanting new neighbours – it gets a little scary, knowing that the big house is quiet and empty day after day. Whenever his mom is unable to pick him up and he has to walk home from school, Sehun will always run past the house, not wanting to look past dusty drapes and into its dark windows.

So this is great! He manages to stay on his tiptoes just long enough to see people climb out of a family car. He counts a father, a mother, and three kids. His excitement spikes just a little more when he realises that the family has a son around his age.

“Momma! I’m gonna have a new friend!”

Dropping back down, Sehun shakes out the soreness in the balls of his feet and dashes downstairs, nearly running into his brother when he turns a corner.

“Whoa – watch it!”

Sehun simply tosses his brother a cheeky grin over his shoulder and barrels into the kitchen, skidding to a stop behind his mother. She’s preparing lunch, apron tied snugly around her waist as she chops up some vegetables.

“Momma, can we bake cookies? I wanna bring some to our new neighbours!”

She smiles down at him, fond. “Sure, honey. After lunch, is that okay?”

Happy, Sehun nods and points at a mushroom. “Can I cut that?”

He climbs up onto a barstool and accepts the small knife that his mother passes to him, hilt first. Brows furrowed in concentration, he pushes the sharp edge of the blade into the mushroom and draws it through the flesh – ah, a perfect slice! Grinning up at his mother, Sehun drops the slice onto the plate and returns to his task.

Just earlier in the year, his mother has bestowed him with the honour of helping her with cooking. He gets simple tasks, like washing produce and cracking open eggs, and it’s just recently that his mother deemed him old enough to wield a fruit knife. Sehun takes his new responsibility very seriously – he knows how dangerous knives are and he doesn’t want his mother to worry –, making sure his fingers aren’t in the way when he cuts into the mushroom and making sure to slice each piece neatly.

Like that, bottom lip between his teeth and knife steady in his small hand, Sehun cuts all the mushrooms into neat slices.

“Wonderful job,” his mother praises, ruffling his hair and plucking the knife out of his grip. “Do you want to mash the sweet potatoes?”

Eager for another task, Sehun nods and waits patiently for his mother to peel the skin off the still-hot spuds. He’s not old enough to do that part yet, but he’s okay with just the mashing for now.

He brandishes the masher like a sword, waving it about in his mother’s face until she chuckles and slides a large bowl of potatoes over to him.

“There you go, hon. Show me how strong you are, hm?”

Oh, he will. He doesn’t have much leverage like this, seated on a chair, so he carefully rises to his knees on the seat, making sure he’s balanced enough before he picks up the masher again and gets straight to the task.

Between the two of them, they get lunch settled in forty minutes. When his brother enters the kitchen, nose buried in his phone, Sehun promptly tells him that he should really be more helpful around the house. In return, he gets a stare from his brother and a laugh from his mother, and he thinks he gets a little extra scoop of ice cream for dessert.

 

 

 

  
The chocolate chip cookies are cooling on the rack and Sehun stands by the counter, staring at them as he munches on one. It’s soft and gooey and chocolatey – these will get him a new friend _easily_. They’ve baked two dozen perfect cookies along with two extra ones that he and his mother have shaped into dogs. Well, they looked like dogs when they went in, anyway.

“Shall we keep some for ourselves?”

Sehun nods in agreement. He likes chocolate chip cookies and he would definitely like to have some in the house, thank you very much. With chocolate smeared all over his fingers and mouth, Sehun supervises as his mother finds a clean box to put them in, covering the base of the box with some decorated parchment paper.

She manages to fit fifteen cookies inside, and after a wipe around the box to make sure there aren’t any chocolate smears on the surface, she sets it aside to cool a little more.

“Make sure you wash your hands,” she says. “I don’t want chocolate everywhere in the house.”

“Yes, Momma.”

Sehun breaks off a small chunk of another cookie and pops that in his mouth. Humming, he traipses to the bathroom and scrubs the chocolate off his hands. He glances out the window at the house – maybe he’ll go by before dinner to give them the cookies. They are probably very busy right now, what with all the unpacking and cleaning that comes with moving into a new house, and Sehun definitely does not want to get in their way!

Tummy full, he pads into the den and settles on the piano bench, pressing a few random keys before he dips into the wicker basket containing all of his sheet music. Playing the piano is one of Sehun’s favourite pastimes, enamoured with the unique sensation of the keys moving beneath his fingertips and the music they create. He was only six years old when he started lessons, interest piqued after someone at the nearby mall played for the public during the Christmas season.

It turns out that the piano is a great way for Sehun to work off all of his extra energy without breaking a sweat, and he knows his parents would rather have him practicing rather than running around outside where they can’t keep an eye on him.

While it’s one of Sehun’s favourite hobbies, it is also something he has a natural talent for. He’s already working on Grade 4 level material and hoping to sail through the test before he turns nine.

Pulling out Tchaikovsky’s _Morning Prayer (Prière du matin)_ , Sehun wriggles his fingers and gets ready to play.

He loses himself in the music, immediately moving on to another piece when it ends. It’s only when the front door opens and he hears his father’s voice does he stop.

“You can keep playing,” his father laughs when Sehun runs to greet him at the door. “Sounds great, son.”

Oh! If Dad’s home, then it must be dinnertime soon.

“Momma,” Sehun begins, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His father rests a hand on the top of his head. “Can we bring our new neighbours the cookies now?”

“Of course,” she says, heading back into the kitchen to retrieve the box.

“New neighbours?”

Sehun beams up at his father. “Yeah! They just moved in today. I saw the truck and everything! I think they have a boy my age, Dad!”

He gets a ruffle to his hair for his excitement. When his father heads further into the house to change and relax before dinner, Sehun pulls on his shoes and waits out on the doorstep for his mother. It’s nice and warm out, not too humid, the sky streaked with pastels.

“Here, honey. You should be the one to give it to them.”

Sehun holds the box close to his chest, both hands around it to keep it safe. They set off, one foot in front of the other – Sehun counts forty-three steps from his house to the neighbour’s.

Their door is a sweet periwinkle blue.

“Momma, can we paint our front door too?”

“Why don’t you ask your father later?”

Nodding, Sehun takes one hand off the box of cookies and knocks on the door. He can hear muffled noises from inside, a couple of voices clear amongst the moving of boxes and furniture. A few moments later, the door swings open to reveal a woman.

“Hi!” Sehun chirps. His mother sets a warm hand on his shoulder. “We’re your neighbours. I made you cookies!”

He holds out the box and the woman blinks down at him for a few long moments before breaking out into a smile.

“Well, aren’t you lovely!” She accepts the cookies with a pat to Sehun’s head, and Sehun ends up standing there on their doorstep while the two women start talking. He listens, and that’s how he finds out that they do indeed have a son his age, and that he’ll be going to Sehun’s school.

When Sehun’s mother points out as much, the other woman – Mrs. Kim – turns around and calls out for someone. Quick feet patter downstairs and Sehun is soon faced with a young boy with a thick mop of hair and kind eyes hidden behind glasses.

“This is Jongin,” Mrs. Kim says. “Jongin, meet Sehun. He’s our neighbour and he goes to your school!”

Jongin smiles, shy, and that’s how it all began.

 

 

 

  
_Present Day_

“Shit, I’m gonna be so late.”

Jongin skids into the kitchen, socked feet sliding across the polished wooden floors, and nearly knocks his hip into the marble island. From where he’s leaning against the counter, Sehun doesn’t even blink, sipping delicately at his coffee while he flips through the morning paper.

“Coffee in the thermos,” he says, pushing it towards Jongin, “and there’s a bagel resting in the toaster oven. I used the cream cheese you like.”

A groan of worship slips out of Jongin’s mouth and Sehun nearly spills his coffee all over himself when Jongin grabs him by the shoulders and plants a sloppy kiss on his forehead. Sehun grimaces, frowning down at the drop of coffee currently soaking through the newspaper.

“Go. You’re late, remember.”

“Oh right, yeah – see you later!” Jongin stuffs his feet into his shoes, grabs his sports bag, and juggles his breakfast in his hands as he runs out the door.

A glance at the clock informs Sehun that he has just under fifteen minutes before he himself has to leave. Draining the rest of his coffee, he rinses out the cup and leaves it in the sink for later washing. As he heads towards his bedroom for a shirt, Sehun trips over a pair of Jongin’s ballet shoes and thanks his lucky stars for his quick reflexes – he would’ve knocked a vase (housewarming present from Jongin’s mother) right over if he didn’t right himself in time.

Vivi, curled up on the piano seat, cracks her eyes open and studies her papa. With a quiet huff, she closes her eyes again and goes right back to snoozing.

“All these years later and he’s still messy,” Sehun mutters to himself, nudging the shoes aside. He gets his shirt and his backpack, doing up the buttons and tucking it neatly into his jeans.

Teaching at Juilliard is nice; Sehun very much enjoys being surrounded by like-minded individuals, people who love and immerse themselves in the arts. They teach the best of the best and Sehun treasures being given the opportunity to help his students achieve their dreams. While he loves performing, either as part of an orchestra or in piano concertos, teaching is a passion that he’d ignited back in his graduate years. After five straight years of performing and composing, it seemed right to give teaching another go.

Jongin was the one who nabbed him an interview at Juilliard, having started teaching there a year before him. His career in ballet started when he was just a child, enrolling in the School of American Ballet at the tender age of seven. For years, after rising to prominence in the New York City Ballet, Jongin breathed new life into the world of ballet, stunning critics and ballet aficionados with the way he moved across the stage and the perfect blend of power, grace, and poise in his dancing. But one too many injuries took their toll on his body, and Jongin decided to retire from the stage and continue his love for dance somewhere else.

That one phone call to Jongin four years ago was what led to their arrangement today – roommates, colleagues, and childhood best friends. Eventually, things worked out well.

Sehun checks to make sure Vivi has water and food before he slips on his shoes and grabs his helmet and keys.

“Bye,” he calls, eyeing the ball of fur on his piano bench. “Be back soon. Please don’t chew your way through our curtains again.”

Vivi ignores him and snuffles into her paws.

 

 

 

  
A knock on the door has Sehun glancing up.

“Hey,” Jongin says, sticking his head into the studio. “Done class?”

“Would I let you interrupt if I wasn’t?” Sehun answers smoothly, bidding a couple of students goodbye. Those very students greet Jongin – by name – as they pass him, which leaves Sehun wondering just how often Jongin drops by to get him for lunch. Not that he minds, of course, Sehun quite enjoys his company.

Jongin waits by the door for him to finish packing up, dressed in his favourite pair of slim fit joggers and a simple tee.

“How was class? Modern II, right?”

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Sehun leaves the studio and Jongin falls into step with him instantly.

“Good,” Jongin replies. “There was a minor collision but no lasting injuries. Anything you want to eat in particular?”

They end up in _Umami_ , Jongin sending Sehun meme after meme through Instagram even though they’re seated right next to each other, knees pressed together. Sehun looks at every single meme and even sends Jongin some in return.

Somehow, they end up trading sides – Sehun steals Jongin’s tempura onion rings and Jongin takes his pile of truffle fries. They’d ordered the same burger, so they can’t exactly steal that, can they?

“I might participate in this year’s piano forum,” Sehun says, stealing some of Jongin’s drink.

“Yeah? Performing or lecturing? Both?”

Sehun hums, leaning against Jongin’s shoulder in contentment. “Don’t know yet. Maybe both? I still have to discuss the details with the department heads, see what they’d like me to do.”

“Let me know if you end up doing it; I’ll sneak in if I can.”

As a dancer, Jongin’s appetite is constantly active. So Sehun gives him the last few mouthfuls of his burger, stealing Jongin’s phone to go through his friends’ Instagram Stories while Jongin eats.

The phone pings and Sehun glimpses a message from Kyungsoo, their mutual friend and a respected member of the drama faculty.

“Kyungsoo wants to set you up with one of his friends,” Sehun reads. “Something about a double date with him and Junmyeon this coming weekend.”

He can almost feel Jongin’s grimace, even with his mouthful of food. “Ugh, no.”

“You don’t even know what she looks like.”

“Still a no. Feel free to tell him that for me. In fact, please do.”

Shrugging, Sehun types out a reply to Kyungsoo and hits _Send_.

 

 

 

  
_Twenty-One Years Ago_

Math, the second class of the day, has just started when Jess, the girl who sits in front of him, leans over to kiss Connor on the cheek.

Sehun blinks. From this angle, he can see the faint sheen of spit that Jess has left on Connor’s cheek, and a sudden urge to lean forward and scrub it off surges up in his chest. He forces it down with a harsh clear of his throat and looks back at the board, adamant to look at nothing else but the board for the duration of the class.

His plan is thwarted within minutes when Connor fumbles for Jess’ hand and knocks over her pencil case while doing so, sending brightly coloured pens and other stationery clattering across the floor. Sehun sighs and bends to pick up a ruler lying by his foot.

“Thanks,” Jess chirps.

“No problem,” Sehun replies, and takes the precious few seconds of reprieve while Jess stuffs her stationery back into the case to write down several equations.

Time passes sluggishly – but for the new couple in front of him, it seems to pass too quickly. They simply can’t stop whispering, giggling, and holding hands, and while Sehun doesn’t mind affection – his parents still give each other kisses at the door and he himself still gets goodnight kisses –, this is honestly Too Much.

When class finally ends, Sehun is up and out of his seat instantly, weaving through his classmates to get to where Jongin is still packing up. They’ve been assigned seats for this class, a fact that Sehun hates: it’s bad enough that Jongin doesn’t come to class sometimes, busy with ballet classes at SAB, and now they can’t even sit together one of the few classes that they share.

“Please tell me you took good notes.”

Jongin frowns at him in confusion. “Well, as good as they get, I guess? Why? You’re usually the one giving your notes to me.”

“Jess and Connor wouldn’t stop being all in love and shit,” Sehun mutters, head jerking over his shoulder to where they’re still in their seats, trading awkward kisses to cheeks. “I couldn’t pay attention even if I wanted to.”

“They’re too young to be in love,” Jongin says wisely, finally standing up and shouldering his backpack with a grunt.

With enough time to stop by the cafeteria for a snack before their next class begins, Sehun picks up a big cookie and Jongin gets a carton of chocolate milk. By the time they get to class, they trade their half-finished snacks and settle into their seats.

“How old do you think you’ll be before you get a girlfriend?” Sehun asks, taking a sip of milk.

“Mum says high school,” Jongin replies, reaching into his bag and pulling out a crumpled notebook. “But honestly, who knows? What if I never meet the right person? I don’t wanna live the rest of my life with someone I don’t really love, you know?”

Sehun blinks at his friend, eyeing the smear of chocolate on Jongin’s chin. He wets his thumb on instinct, reaching out to wipe the chocolate off just like how his mother would clean him up. The only reaction he gets from Jongin is a distracted mumble of thanks, the boy too busy digging through pencil case for his favourite pen to care much.

Their teacher walks in, a young man who looks like he should still be in high school – Sehun wonders if he’s simply a genius.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, watching as Mr. Tate (he thinks that’s his name) writes down **FRACTIONS** on the board in messy block letters. Jongin turns to him, curious. “What do you say we make a pact?”

“What kinda pact?”

“If we don’t have girlfriends by the time we’re thirty-five, we marry each other.”

Jongin wrinkles his nose. “Thirty-five is old. Are you sure?”

Shrugging, Sehun copies down the three fractions currently on the board and finishes the rest of his milk. “It’s not _that_ old. Momma’s like, thirty-six. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll both get girlfriends by then – this is just, you know, backup.”

They shake on it, Jongin getting residual chocolate onto Sehun’s hand with the action. Sehun doesn’t mind, he just simply licks it off and tunes back into Mr. Tate’s pitchy voice.

 

 

 

  
_Present Day_

Sehun finishes the piece just in time to hear Jongin’s long, drawn-out sigh.

“What’s the matter?”

Fingers poised to start _Cohen’s Masterpiece_ , he turns around and spots Jongin standing by the windows and dressed in his running gear. Jongin glares balefully at the thunderclouds gathering overhead.

“Ah,” Sehun says, understanding the situation. “Perhaps you could give the treadmill another go?”

A snort, then Jongin replies with a firm, “Definitely not. You know very well how I feel about those things. I’ll just stay home and work on choreography, I suppose.”

With that, Jongin disappears into his room, presumably to change, and Sehun turns back to his piano. Through the music, he hears the faint sound of Jongin rearranging the furniture, pushing the couch and coffee table to the side to make room for himself.

It’s practically routine by now – whenever they’re home together and Sehun is playing the piano, Jongin ends up freestyling behind him in their temporarily empty living room. Since Sehun never sticks to a particular genre, Jongin ends up dancing a range of styles, and more often than not he will come up with a bit of choreography that he incorporates in his teaching.

The wall Sehun faces isn’t as much a wall as it is a large mirror, and whenever he glances up from the keys, he is always able to watch Jongin’s body as it paints a strong and graceful picture to go with his music.

They’ll spend a couple of hours like this, until Sehun’s fingers require a break or Jongin’s muscles start to ache. Today, Sehun plays until the storm passes and Jongin appears by his side. Out of the corner of his eye, Sehun sees Jongin peel his sweat-soaked shirt off his skin, chest rapidly rising and falling as he catches his breath.

Unbothered by Jongin’s sudden proximity, he continues playing, fingers coaxing ivory keys to fill the room with the sounds of _aLIEz_. It’s an unconscious decision, as Sehun realised a year ago, choosing to play anime OSTs at home instead of classical piano pieces. He plays them enough in class, so a change at home is exactly what he needs. Jongin never seems to mind – in fact, there have been times where Sehun would stop by Jongin’s studio for lunch, and the familiar music of Sehun’s favourite OST tracks would drift through the cracks of the door.

When the music ends, Jongin speaks. “Has anyone ever told you that the way you play is extremely sensual? Intimate, really.”

Sehun glances at his friend. “Yes, actually. Not quite so eloquently, but yes. You don’t remember?”

The look on Jongin’s face is answer enough.

“We were… sixteen? We stayed after school – I played the piano and you danced, and your then-girlfriend was there too. What was her name? Tessa? She said my future wife would be very happy if I fucked the way I played.”

“Ah,” Jongin utters. “I remember now.”

Sehun laughs and shakes out the faint ache in his hands. “I remember wanting to tell her that I would never have a wife, but somehow that never quite came out.”

He rises to his feet and the two of them head towards the kitchen. Sehun grabs two beers from the fridge, uncapping them with his fingers before sliding one over the surface of the kitchen island towards Jongin.

“I think she figured it out though,” Jongin says out of the blue. He leans forward, elbows and forearms flat against the cool marble, and plays with the droplets of condensation forming on the bottle’s surface.

“What do you mean?”

“She broke up with me because she thought I was cheating on her,” Jongin says. He pauses, takes a drink, and continues, “with you.”

Sehun chokes on his own spit, throat burning with the pressure and the fizz of the beer.

“ _What?_ ”

“I’d blow her off sometimes to spend time with you _and_ I would bring you into our conversations quite often, so I can’t really blame her for thinking that way. She was oddly understanding about it, though.”

“Didn’t you try to explain it to her?”

Jongin doesn’t answer and Sehun feels his own eyebrows disappear into his hairline.

“You _didn’t_ explain it to her?”

“Well, I didn’t really think it was a problem. We were sixteen – it’s not as if we were going to end up marrying each other. She was nice and we had a nice time but that’s all it was, you know?”

The base of the bottle thuds loudly against the countertop when Sehun sets it down. “Sure, I get that, but you didn’t feel like correcting her assumption that you were with me? _A boy?_ ”

With a hum, Jongin straightens and stretches, and Sehun can’t help but eye the pull of taut muscles.

“No, I guess I didn’t.”

 _Why?_ Sehun bites the word back and stuffs it back down into his body with a large gulp of beer. The conversation ends there and Jongin leaves his half-finished beer behind in favour of a cold shower, intent on sloughing the cooling sweat off his skin. Sehun watches him go.

 

 

 

  
Hours later and they’re sprawled out on the couch, accompanied by a blockbuster movie playing on the TV and Vivi batting lazily at a stuffed cheese plushie on the floor. They’re too full to do anything else except sit and breathe, but neither of them seems to mind.

It’s hazy and comfortable, the weight of Jongin’s head on Sehun’s lap grounding enough to prevent Sehun from simply floating away into the moonlight.

“So, why aren’t you dating?”

Jongin’s voice is soft, almost lazy, and Sehun has to strain to pick it up through the noise of the movie.

“Too busy, I suppose. Besides, I could ask you the same.”

When he glances down, Sehun sees Jongin’s hair spilled out across his thigh like inky brushstrokes, shadows flickering over the angles of his face and the curve of his bare shoulder, creating fleeting pieces of art.

“Not interested, I guess. I’m perfectly happy with life as it is right now.”

“You don’t want kids? A family?”

“I do. Just… with the right person.”

They lapse into silence, gazes trained on the TV screen but not really seeing. Absent, a habit from decades past, Sehun finds himself threading gentle fingers through Jongin’s hair. Jongin blinks slow, owlish, and Sehun doesn’t stop.

“How do you know who the right person is if you don’t look?”

When Sehun doesn’t get an answer for his question, he wonders if Jongin himself is still trying to figure it out or if he’s keeping it a secret.

 

 

 

  
_Fifteen Years Ago_

They’re up on the roof of Sehun’s house, lying on the shingles, with nothing but a thin sheet between their backs and the tiles keeping them clean. It’s balmy out, the sweltering heat of the summer mornings nothing but a distant memory whenever the moon rises.

“Can’t believe we’re done high school,” Sehun says, fiddling with the tongue piercing he’d gotten done just a few weeks ago. It was an impulse, one that his mother had surprisingly gone along with, citing good grades and good behaviour as the reasons behind her signature. The metal stud clicks against his teeth, and when Sehun presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the blunt pressure of the stud has him shivering.

“I can’t believe we’ve been best friends for ten years.”

Sehun turns to look at Jongin, studying the way his too-long hair tumbles into his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “Wild. You think we’re gonna be best friends for another ten years?”

He gets a sharp elbow to the side for that, Jongin indignant that he would expect anything else. Sehun laughs, a sound that breaks in the middle, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s due to start at MSM in a couple of weeks or because Jongin will be starting his full-time employment under NYCB. But it’s essentially the same thing, he realises. They won’t be together anymore.

“It’s gonna be weird without you around,” Jongin sighs, lifting a leg up and pulling it down towards his head, straight and easy. He’s been stretching a lot more in the past couple of years, wanting to keep his muscles pliant as he ages. Sehun’s tried, but he can never look away.

The stud presses a little harder against his palate.

“We’re only gonna be twenty minutes apart by public transport and I’ll come back regularly. Maybe when my roommate leaves for a weekend you could come over and we could spend a couple of days together.”

“Yeah, but I see you _every_ day. It’s just… I dunno, it doesn’t feel right when I think about the fact that when I look out of my window at night, yours is just gonna be dark.”

Sehun fumbles around for Jongin’s hand, using the faint illumination of moonlight to guide his way. Their fingers tangle together, effortless and natural, and Sehun gives Jongin’s a squeeze. While they haven’t done this in public ever since Sehun came out of the closet when they were fifteen, they still find comfort in each other’s touch when it’s just the two of them.

“I don’t want to leave either.”

The only thing keeping the silence at bay is the muted trill of cicadas.

“We’ll Skype every night?”

Sehun feels rather than sees Jongin’s nod. He breathes. He thinks they’re breathing in sync.

He’s just about to say _we’ll be alright_ when Jongin pushes himself up onto his elbows, Sehun’s hand still comfortably wrapped in his. There’s a pause, tension evident across the line of Jongin’s shoulders and down the stretch of his spine, then Jongin turns to look at him.

“Hey,” he begins, features shrouded in darkness as the moon reflects brightly off the sheen of his hair. “Would it be weird if I kissed you right now?”

Sehun’s heart staggers to a stop. _No_ , he wants to say. “What?” Is what he ends up saying instead.

Jongin shifts, and Sehun momentarily curses the lack of light when he can’t look into his best friend’s eyes and figure out what he’s thinking.

Heat curls up the back of his neck and chills ripple down his spine. He tightens his grip on Jongin’s hand. “You–you can kiss me.”

When it happens, no fireworks go off, but Sehun feels tears spring to his eyes. _Ah_ , he thinks. _So I guess I have wanted this for a while._ It’s effortless, the way their lips move against each other, years upon years of close friendship evident in the way they meld together. Jongin’s tongue slides along his bottom lip and Sehun instinctively opens to give him access, angling his head a little more to deepen the kiss.

The bones of their fingers are grinding together but the only thing Sehun feels is Jongin’s lips on his.

 

 

 

  
As it turns out, nothing changes after the kiss, and Sehun isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. He decides to move past it regardless, busying himself with packing and saying goodbye to the few friends that have decided to leave the city for university.

He’s in the room when his brother calls from halfway across the country, and his parents end up sitting on either side of him, listening with fond smiles as the brothers talk on speakerphone about the future.

Jongin’s busy with classes and rehearsals for his first production as an NYCB dancer, so Sehun only gets to see him for a short while every night.

Tonight, he does as he’s been doing for the past dozen nights. He heads outside after dinner, settling down on his front steps with his headphones snug over his ears. When Jongin’s figure approaches from the end of the street, Sehun pauses his music and shifts to the right, and it’s barely a few moments later that Jongin drops down into the vacated space with a groan.

The warmth of Jongin’s body is sweltering from where their arms are brushing and Sehun hunches in on himself just a little.

“How was your day?”

“Exhausting,” Jongin says, gingerly rotating an ankle. “I don’t think my feet have ever been this sore.”

Sehun uncurls himself from his ball. “C’mon,” he says, patting his thigh. “I’ll rub it out.”

It takes a bit of manoeuvring – they’re usually on the floor in one of their rooms when they do this –, but somehow Jongin manages to get a foot resting on Sehun’s lap without either of them falling off the stairs. A knuckle, dragging firm up against the sole of Jongin’s foot, has the dancer moaning in relief.

Sehun works quietly, letting Jongin’s reactions guide him to the areas that hurt most – the balls of his feet, the Achilles tendons, a spot a couple of inches below the ankle.

It’s Jongin who breaks the silence first, gaze hot on the side of Sehun’s face as he watches him work intently at the aches in his feet.

“You’re leaving in two days. I’ll miss you.”

“Mm,” Sehun hums, pointedly avoiding taking this conversation where he does not want it to go. “You’ll be hard-pressed to find someone who is willing to do this for you every night.”

Jongin licks his lips and absentmindedly flicks a ladybug off the back of his hand.

“It has nothing to do with that. I know you know what I’m trying to say.”

Sehun drops Jongin’s foot unceremoniously from his lap and gestures for the other. There’s a shot of hesitation before Jongin does as he’s told.

“I’m not even sure what exactly there is for you to miss,” Sehun says, fingers pausing. They lock eyes. “Are you?”

Then Jongin sighs and Sehun drops his gaze, returning to the task at hand.

Neither one attempts to continue the conversation.

 

 

 

  
Sehun leaves on a Friday afternoon, piling his handful of boxes – most of which contain his music sheets and books – into the back of his secondhand car before giving his mother a kiss on the cheek and his father a hug.

He’s leaving a little earlier than planned, because a part of him knows that waiting for Jongin to come home before he leaves will make things that much harder. His mother has a look on his face that Sehun wants to ignore – mothers always know, and he is not going to put it past his own to know that something is up.

So he slides in behind the wheel, assuring his parents that he’ll drive safe and that he will call the second he gets to campus and has moved into his room.

Starting the engine, Sehun curls his fingers around the steering wheel and exhales. He looks at Jongin’s house, seeing the blurry silhouette of Jongin’s mother bustling about in the kitchen. Last night, after walking Jongin home, he had given her a hug and bade her goodbye, promising that the next time he comes home he will bake her a batch of the very cookies he brought over all those years ago.

“See you tomorrow?” Jongin asked, one hand resting on the door handle. The light from the foyer spills out into the night and Sehun simply smiled in response. Then he turned and headed home, feeling Jongin’s eyes on his back until he disappeared behind his own door.

He presses down on the accelerator and in mere moments, their houses are behind him, fading quickly into the horizon.

Barely three minutes on the road and Sehun pulls off to the side, fumbling in his pockets for his phone.

_i’ll miss you too_

There’s a weird, suffocating ache in his chest when he sets his phone aside and starts driving once more. He knows exactly what it is, so he pushes down on the gas pedal and wills the extra speed to help pull him away from it.

Later that night, when he’s seated on the floor by his bed, half-empty boxes all around him, his phone pings with a new text message. He glances at the clock – 8 P.M., exactly when Jongin’s done with rehearsals – and opens the message.

_you didn’t wait for me, did you?_

Sehun’s thumbs hover over the _N_ and _O_ buttons.

 _i’ll see you next weekend,_ is what he sends instead.

His phone pings again. _i miss you already._

Sehun stares down at the four words and swallows past the dryness in his throat.

 

 

 

  
_Present Day_

It's a dull, heavy thud that wakes Sehun up, adrenaline sparking through his veins and causing him to shoot upright in bed. Another thud, a muffled swear, and Sehun's out of bed and rushing towards his door.

The second he catches a glimpse of Jongin's face, all lingering traces of sleepiness vanish. “What happened?”

“My parents got into an accident,” Jongin replies, harried and distracted. “I have to get to the hospital, I – _fuck_ , where are my keys? I –”

“Sit,” Sehun interrupts, grabbing Jongin by the arm and steering him over to the couch. “I'm going to change, then I'm going to drive you to the hospital, alright? Will you wait a few minutes for me?”

Jongin stares at him, bright-eyed and shadows dark beneath them. He breathes. “Yeah. I'll wait.”

It's barely bright out, the sun still sluggishly dragging itself above the horizon. Across the living room, Vivi snuffles in her sleep.

Sehun tries to multitask, yanking on a pair of jeans while he brushes his teeth. A quick wash of his face, a clean t-shirt, then he's rushing back out into the living room and locating the keys to Jongin's car.

“Come on,” he says quietly. Jongin reaches out for him and Sehun gives him his hand. They leave the apartment, Jongin’s hand so tight around Sehun’s that it hurts, but neither one lets go until they get to the car. Sehun checks to make sure Jongin’s got his seatbelt on before he starts the engine, and the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital starts in silence, Jongin staring out of the window and Sehun focusing on the road.

Halfway through, Jongin’s hand nudges his own in a silent request. Sehun lifts his hand from where it was resting on the gearstick and turns it around – Jongin’s palm is clammy to the touch.

“Thanks,” Jongin says. “For –” He waves a hand vaguely and bites his lip.

Sehun squeezes. “Of course.”

 

 

 

  
Should he find the cafeteria or settle for the quicker solution and buy their coffee from a vending machine? He spends a minute debating internally before deciding that Jongin deserves a cup of the best coffee he can get, even if it might take longer to obtain.

 _A dash of milk and a pack of sugar._ He adds the correct amount of each to Jongin’s cup and heads back upstairs, taking a large gulp from his own and sighing at the feeling of caffeine spreading warm and thick through his body.

Jongin is seated by his mother’s bedside, both hands encasing one of her small ones. The doctor has left after briefing Jongin on his parents’ conditions, and Jongin looks appropriately exhausted.

“Here,” Sehun says, pulling another chair up between the beds and passing Jongin his cup. “Your usual.”

He gets a small smile in thanks, and Sehun is relieved to see that it reaches Jongin’s eyes.

“What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing life threatening. Mum’s got a concussion and they’ve both fractured bones, but once her concussion clears up they’ll let them go home.”

Jongin’s relief is palpable in the air and Sehun nods, feeling a weight slide off his shoulders as he slumps deeper into the chair. “Good, that’s good.”

The steady beep of medical machines fill the silence, and it’s enough until Jongin drags his free hand through his hair and says, “Thanks for coming with me.”

“I’m slightly insulted you were thinking of going without telling me.”

A quiet laugh. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You’d want me to wake you if our positions are reversed,” Sehun points out.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I wasn’t really thinking.”

Setting his cup aside, Sehun gets to his feet and walks around the foot of the bed. “Get up. You need a hug, and you know mine are the best.”

Jongin is out of the chair and in his arms in the next instance. He’s solid and warm and he smells like the laundry detergent they use. Sehun holds him close, feeling Jongin’s hands splay wide across his own back, and he can’t help but nuzzle into the curve of Jongin’s neck for a whiff of the man’s natural scent.

“Sometimes,” he hears Jongin mumble, “I’m not quite sure where I would be without you.”

If Jongin feels the chaste kiss that Sehun gives him, right over his pulse point, he doesn’t say anything.

 

 

 

  
Somehow, their coffees end up forgotten. They’d pulled their chairs together up against the wall and fallen asleep within minutes of each other, Sehun’s head perched on Jongin’s shoulder.

His eyelids are heavy when he opens them and Sehun is pretty sure his left cheek is numb. Squinting against the brightness in the room, Sehun rubs at his eyes and gingerly raises his head – _oh_ , that sharp ache in his neck is exquisitely painful. He’s just about to rub vigorously at the spot when a warm hand slips around his neck to do just that.

“I didn’t know if I should move you,” Jongin murmurs. “You looked like you needed the rest but I was positive this position would kill your neck.”

Each steady rub of Jongin’s thumb pushes the pain out, leaving him feeling like a puddle of jelly in a crappy hospital chair. He’s just about to tell Jongin that it’s alright when he lifts his gaze and sees Mrs. Kim looking right at them with a gentle smile on her face. Meanwhile, Mr. Kim is still out like a light in the other bed.

“Oh,” he splutters, jerking away from Jongin’s hand. Mother and son let out identical chuckles. “I didn’t know you were awake. How, uh, how’s your head feeling?”

“Like I’ve just been in an accident,” she jokes. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Just sore and tender. You didn’t have to come all the way, I know you’re very busy.”

“You’re family,” Sehun insists, “it’s only right that I come. Besides, I didn’t want to risk Jongin driving when he’s worried and getting into an accident of his own.”

A gentle squeeze to his shoulder has mild heat licking up his nape. He wets his lips and relaxes, just a little, into Jongin’s touch.

 

 

 

  
_Twelve Years Ago_

He hasn’t been home for Thanksgiving since his freshman year and Sehun knows, deep in his gut, that things will be different this time around. Why? Well, his family has been co-hosting Thanksgiving dinners with Jongin’s family since the year they met, and he hasn’t talked to Jongin for almost a year and a half, bar birthday wishes and the polite _yeah, we should catch up soon!_ messages _._

They’re both busy, Sehun knows that much. Judging by Jongin’s Instagram, he’s busy rehearsing and training for production after production, and when he’s not dancing, he’s busy living his life to the fullest. Sehun himself doesn’t have much free time on his hands, always busy either in classes, practising on his own, or being social. So it’s hard to be bitter, not when he knows that they’re both to blame for not making time for the other.

There’s also the fact that Jongin’s got a girlfriend.

Sehun remembers seeing a picture of her, Jongin’s arm around her shoulders and his lips on her cheek. He'd scrolled past the picture and didn't leave a like. There are more, but he makes it a point to ignore any of Jongin’s pictures with her in them. It’s an odd sort of sting, made worse by the fact that his boyfriend of ten months had broken up with him a couple of weeks before that, not-so-subtly telling Sehun that he has unresolved issues with his past that he should settle before getting into relationships.

Sighing, Sehun turns up the volume and props an elbow up on the window sill. Traffic is creeping along, the streets flooded with people getting home for the holidays. It’s mind-numbing, so Sehun fills the space in the car with music and loses himself in it.

 

 

 

  
“Hi Mom,” Sehun smiles, bending to let her drop kisses on his cheek. “You’re looking lovely.”

She does, dressed in a ruby sweater that brings out the warmth of her skin. It’s chilly out, but the sun is bright and Sehun figures it could be worse. He lets his mother usher him inside, lets her run her hands over him and coo about how much he’s grown since she last saw him during the summer.

 _Mothers_ , he thinks fondly. _They love you to the moon and beyond._

“Your brother will be running late,” she says, waiting until Sehun’s set his bag and coat down before heading into the kitchen. Sehun follows her and sees that she’s already started preparing dinner. “None of us are surprised, are we?”

“Years later and he still has horrible time management,” Sehun snorts. He takes his usual spot on the right side of the island, and out of sheer habit, finds himself looking up and right through the window at Jongin’s house.

His mother doesn’t miss it. “How’s Jongin?”

Sehun fights back a wince. “Uh, he’s fine. Busy with dance and all that. He’s got a girlfriend, I think.”

He can literally feel the cogs in his mother’s brain turning. Focus on the carrot, he tells himself, holding the knife steady. He’s almost done chopping the vegetable into neat chunks when his mother speaks again.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Sehun replies, voice unnaturally light. “We’ve been busy, so we can’t catch up as often as we’d like.”

“You guys are best friends,” she says. “There’s nothing you guys can’t handle.”

This time, Sehun can’t hold back the sigh. “There are very few things that can hold up to the negative effects of time, Mom. Perhaps our friendship isn’t one of them.”

Blessedly, she lets the issue drop, and they finish prepping dinner in silence.

 

 

 

  
Jongin arrives the next day. Night, technically, past dinnertime.

Sehun sees the headlights of his car round the corner, the beams cutting through the thin curtains pulled shut over his windows. He pauses his music, counts to eighteen, and hears car doors open and shut. Plural. There’s a twinge somewhere in his chest cavity, but he takes a breath and turns his music back up.

His pillow is as soft as he remembers. He sinks deep into it, closing his eyes and letting the music drown everything else out. But despite his best efforts, it’s hard to forget the many, many times he and Jongin have shared this very pillow in the past.

 

 

 

  
Playing the piano and eating his breakfast at the same time is not an easy feat. His half-eaten bowl of cereal – cereal is for all ages, alright – sits next to him on the piano bench, getting soggier by the minute.

 _Noise of Rain_ is what came to mind, and so that is what Sehun plays, the sheet music clear in his mind as his fingers flit across the keys. It’s one of Jongin’s favourite tracks, melancholy yet passionate, grounding yet uplifting. Sehun remembers the first time he got to see Jongin dance to this – saying he was blown away would be putting it lightly.

He’s so engrossed in playing that a touch to his shoulder has him jumping in shock. Milk and cereal slosh out of the bowl and spill all over the seat.

“Shit, sorry,” Sehun hears, and he freezes. “I heard you playing through the front door, so I let myself in. Is this – um, is this a bad time?”

Unprepared for this conversation, Sehun remains silent, eyes fixed on the spreading puddle of milk. The house is empty, save for the two of them. His father’s at work, his mother is out at the store, and his brother is doing god-knows-what with his friends.

“Sehun?”

Sehun starts. “Oh, um, no, it’s okay. Sorry, you just took me by surprise, is all. I’m gonna go get something to…” He gestures to the mess and rises, heading into the kitchen without a glance backwards. Jongin’s gaze has always been intense, and Sehun can feel it trained on him now, a brand on his back.

He spends a little extra time looking for a rag and wetting it before venturing back out into the living room.

Jongin has always been direct, too.

“Is there a reason you’re not looking at me?”

Well, shit. Sehun looks up at that, resolutely meeting Jongin’s gaze, and holds up the rag in his hands. “Would you like me to look at you while I clean, too?” It comes out ruder than he’d intended, the words laced with acidity.

Jongin’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “ _What?_ ”

Well, double shit. “Sorry,” Sehun exhales. “That was uncalled for. I’ve been… stressed, lately.” He moves around Jongin, sets the bowl aside, and mops up the mess.

“That excuse might work with anyone else, but I know you like I know the back of my hand, Sehun. If you want to say something, you know I’d prefer it if you do.”

Sehun bristles. “Excuse me? We have barely traded three sentences since Thanksgiving two years ago, and now you’re asking me why –”

“ _You_ could have messaged me first if you wanted to talk! I’m busy, and I know how much you have on your plate –”

“You have time to date and yet you’re unable to find time to call your supposed best friend? You –”

“Alright, what is the actual problem here?”

The rag is cold and disgusting and Sehun really wants to fling it at Jongin’s face.

“Two years ago, you kissed me and didn’t give me an explanation. Three months after that, you kissed me again and didn’t give me an explanation. Barely one month after that – one month, Jongin! – you end up in a brand _spanking_ new relationship and didn’t give me an explanation. What am I to you, exactly? I’d guess someone to kiss and tell, but then again you never talked about it, did you?”

“Two years ago, I kissed you because you said I could, and then you left before I could explain. Three months after that, I kissed you again, and _again_ you left without giving me a chance to explain. A month after that, I was sick and tired of staring at your name on the screen of my phone, so I went out with a nice girl. I don't even talk to her anymore.” Jongin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re one of the most important people in my life, Sehun. You should know that by now.”

They stand there staring at each other, Sehun’s hand stained with milk and their jaws clenched.

“Do you want me to explain now?” Jongin’s voice is soft, the sudden burst of fight all gone.

“I don’t think it’s a good time for you to do that,” Sehun replies, chest tight. Jongin frowns in confusion. “Did you not come with your girlfriend?”

Jongin’s confusion only seems to increase.

“Girlfriend?”

“Yeah, that pretty brunette that pops up on your Instagram on a regular basis. Didn’t you come with her? I thought I heard you arrive with somebody.”

“Yeah,” Jongin says slowly. “I picked up my sister on the way here. And that girl on my Instagram is Lina – she’s not my girlfriend, she’s as gay as you are. We’re just good friends, that’s all.”

The truth is not what you’d expect, sometimes.

Sehun whirls around and escapes into the kitchen, dumping the soiled rag in the sink and scrubbing the milk out of it until the skin on his palms turns pink. When he returns to the living room, armed to the teeth with wet wipes for the remaining traces of milk, Jongin hasn’t moved from his position.

“I kissed you because I wanted to, Sehun.” Jongin crouches down, pulls a wet wipe from Sehun’s grasp, and starts helping with the cleanup. “And I thought you wanted it too.”

Turns out that all the fight has left him, too.

“Yeah,” Sehun mumbles. “I did.”

They finish wiping everything down in silence.

After, they lean against the back of the couch, knees pulled up to their chests and heads dipped forward.

“I don’t know what I want,” Sehun admits, picking at a cuticle. “With regards to us, I mean. I don’t know if I’m willing to risk our friendship. I don’t want our past couple of years of silence to be something permanent. It was hard enough as it is.”

Jongin stays silent for a while, long enough for Sehun to get fidgety.

“Okay,” Jongin says suddenly. Sehun bites back a surprised yelp. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I understand. Our friendship is important to me, too.” Jongin looks over at him, a small smile – genuine, if a little sad – gracing his lips. Before Sehun can speak, Jongin leans over and kisses him on the temple, gentle and soft and sweet, and Sehun _yearns_. “I’ll always love you, regardless. Please remember that.”

Then he’s standing, heading towards the door, and all Sehun wants to do is stop him. No words leave his mouth, but Jongin stops anyway, turning around at the doorway to look at him. Breath tangled up in his lungs, Sehun wonders if Jongin remembers their promise.

“Maybe we could meet up tonight? I haven’t had the chance to dance to your music in a while, and I miss it.”

Sehun has to bite on his lip hard enough to draw blood to prevent tears from springing up. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Sounds good.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Present Day_

“That’s good, Mom, I’m glad. Is Dad doing okay?”

Jongin’s got the phone pinched between his cheek and shoulder, hands busy prepping a couple of cod fillets for dinner. On his right is Sehun, humming to himself as he washes some spuds and root vegetables.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll try and stop by this weekend, alright? Yeah, I’ll ask. Bye, love you too.”

The moment Jongin starts turning his body to face Sehun, Sehun reaches out to pluck the phone from Jongin’s ear. He sets it down on the counter and turns to his friend, noting the relaxed set of his features and the gentle way he’s handling the fish.

“They’re doing well?”

“Yeah, they’re heading back to the hospital for a check-up tomorrow to see if their fractures are healing well, but they seem to be doing great, all things considered.”

Sehun smiles, nudging Jongin in the side with an elbow. “That’s great news. Glad to hear it.”

Ten minutes later and everything is in the oven. Sehun leans against the edge of the counter and watches as Jongin washes up, hands covered in suds and sponge a bright pink amongst all the foam.

“Do you want to come with me this weekend? To see them? They want to see you, you know. They miss you.”

Taking a soapy plate from Jongin’s hands, Sehun sticks it under the faucet and rinses it clean. “I actually have a performance on Sunday. A one-night special event with NYPO.”

Jongin’s head whips around, eyes wide. “What! You didn’t tell me!”

“I was going to, honestly, but it slipped my mind. And you’ve been busy with work and your parents the last couple of weeks; I didn’t want to pull you away from that.”

He gets a long, thoughtful look. “You think you can scrounge up a few tickets?”

Jongin passes him another plate and Sehun rinses it automatically. “Tickets?”

“Yeah. If you can get your hands on three, I’ll bring my parents. You know that they love hearing you play almost as much as I do.”

They’ve been friends for most of their lives, and Jongin has never shied away from complimenting Sehun on his talents. Hell, apart from the (stupid) rift they had in their twenties, Jongin would regularly remind Sehun that he plays the piano like a dream. At least once a week, if Sehun really thinks about it – not that he doesn’t at night, staring up at the ceiling when he can’t sleep.

At least once a week, and each earnest compliment still sends a shock of thrill blooming white-hot through his body.

“Oh,” he says intelligently. “Um, yeah, I’ll try.”

 

 

 

  
He knows Jongin and his parents are out there somewhere – he’d gotten them tickets on the orchestral floor, a good spot close to the stage. Performing comes naturally now, nerves no longer bubbling whenever he’s out on stage and under the spotlight. Most of the time, that is.

Jongin is always there when he plays at home, but he hasn’t been to one of Sehun’s orchestral performances in a while, not since Sehun chose to pursue teaching instead of continuing with performing. It’s very different, from the genre of music to the number of people in the audience to the venue. At home, Sehun can fuck up as many times as he wants. Here, in the David Geffen Hall with almost 2,800 individuals in the audience? He can’t fuck up once.

He’s performing Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2 tonight, music imbued with waves and waves of emotion. It’s going to be a rollercoaster, after a couple of years away from the stage and with such a big production.

But he’s going to blow it out of the water, just like he always does.

 

 

 

  
The bouquet of roses in his arms are tickling his nose, but they’re from Jongin’s parents and the last thing he wants to do is toss them aside. He gets a bunch of kisses from Mrs. Kim and a proud clap on the shoulder from Mr. Kim, and all the while Jongin’s standing behind his parents with a smile on his face.

“That was amazing,” Mrs. Kim gushes, “Jongin here wouldn’t stop moving to the music – he was seconds away from getting up and dancing, I swear!”

“I might have choreographed something in my mind,” Jongin says, lips quirking. There’s something thick and heavy in his eyes, filled with the best kinds of emotions, and Sehun has to look away.

A few more words of praise and the Kim family turns to leave. “I’m going to drive them back; see you at home? We can pop a bottle to celebrate a perfect concerto.”

Sehun nods, fingers tightening around the flowers. “Yeah, see you at home. Thank you guys for coming, I really appreciate it.”

He hugs all three of them, allowing himself to breathe in the familiar scent of Jongin’s cologne when those arms pull him close.

“Drive safe,” he says, and waits until they’re out of sight before he moves a single inch.

 

 

 

  
Freshly showered, he’s standing in front of the fridge in nothing but his underwear when he hears a key slide into the lock.

“Hey,” he calls out, frowning in thought at the vast array of chocolates packed up in a box on the top shelf. Both of them have a sweet tooth and that has proven to be a bad combination when it comes to shopping for snacks.

A grunt comes from the entryway and Sehun hears muffled stumbling. For a dancer, Jongin has horrible balance when it comes to taking off his shoes.

“Hey,” Jongin replies, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt as he walks up to him. “Sorry it took a while for me to get back. There was a bad pile-up on the highway. I’m gonna take a quick shower, then we can have that nightcap, yeah?”

Sehun picks up a Snickers bar and shuts the fridge just in time to turn around and see Jongin’s shirt slip off his shoulders. He coughs and makes a beeline for the couch, where he sinks into the cushions and resolutely tries to ignore the rush of water coming from Jongin’s shower.

It’s not as if they haven’t seen each other naked before – they’re best friends _and_ they live together. They’ve even each other naked right after one-night stands. But Sehun’s coming off the high of a very successful concerto mixed with a look from Jongin that he can’t quite place. All that tanned skin and toned muscles? Yeah, it’s been over a decade and that combination still does it for him.

He distracts himself with his chocolate and a re-run of a sitcom, but Jongin’s done with his shower in what seems like seconds.

“White or red?” Jongin asks. Sehun looks over his shoulder to see him walk over to the kitchen, scrubbing his towel through his hair. He’s also in nothing but his underwear, riding low on his hips.

“Red’s good.”

A cork pops, glasses clink, and Jongin joins him on the couch.

“Ooh, give me a bite of that.”

Sehun holds out his half-finished Snickers bar and Jongin takes a chunk out of it, chewing as he pours out two glasses of wine.

Time passes like this, the two of them sipping at their wine with Vivi a warm, squirming presence between them. Sehun gives Jongin the last bite of the chocolate and they put on a movie, one with enough action and excitement to keep the alcohol from lulling them to sleep. They shout at the screen, grimace when the protagonist gets punched in the stomach, and come up with their own ideas on how to infiltrate an organized crime syndicate.

“This is a great night,” Jongin says, draining the rest of his wine and setting the empty glass down on the coffee table. Vivi has long since abandoned them, choosing to curl up in her expensive doggy bed with her expensive doggy toy in her mouth instead.

“Mm,” Sehun agrees. He scratches absently at an itch on his collarbone and leans across Jongin to grab the remote. “Another movie?”

He’s just about to sit back when a hand closes around his wrist and another settles on the side of his throat. Sehun stops breathing.

“Maybe in a bit,” Jongin says, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Can I tell you something?”

Those fingers are searing hot on his skin. They’re awfully close to each other, Jongin’s breath warm and steady on the side of Sehun’s face.

“Sure.”

“You were breathtaking up there. On that stage. I know you wanted a change and I know you enjoy teaching at Juilliard, but I believe you belong under the spotlight. You bring something out in people that can’t really be put into words. At least, that’s how it is for me.”

God, his voice is like liquid amber in Sehun’s ears. He swallows, stares down at a freckle on Jongin’s bare thigh.

“I could, ah, say the same for you, you know?”

“What?”

Alcohol really does work at loosening the tongue. Sehun licks his lips and tries to ignore what seems to be the biggest piece of cotton in his mouth.

“Some of the pieces I’ve composed are solely inspired by you. The way you dance. Poetic, powerful, limitless.”

It’s uncomfortable, hunched over in this position, but Sehun doesn’t move an inch. That is, not until the hand around his wrist moves up to cup his jaw, gently turning his face towards Jongin.

“I’m going to kiss you now. If you want to stop me, you –”

Sehun drops the remote and twists around, hands fisting in Jongin’s hair to pull his head back enough for their mouths to meet. It’s messy and frantic, with teeth clashing and blood being drawn from swollen lips. Jongin holds him tightly by the hips and gives back as good as he’s getting, a particular harsh tug on Sehun’s bottom lip gifting him with the dirtiest moan he’s ever heard.

When the desperation tapers off to a manageable burn, Jongin pulls Sehun closer and runs his palms up the expanse of Sehun’s back, fingers spanning the breadth of broad shoulders.

The taste of wine and chocolate is strong on both their tongues, and Sehun hums in satisfaction when he sucks on Jongin’s and gets another taste of sweetness.

“Do you,” he mumbles, punctuating each word with a kiss, “want to –”

“God, yes.”

“Mm, good. My room’s closer.”

 

 

 

  
This isn’t their first rodeo by any means, but it’s been so long since the last time that it might as well be.

There’s an embarrassing amount of fumbling, what with their unsure limbs and all that fabric surrounding them. Sehun almost knees Jongin in the balls and gets a sharp elbow to his stomach for that, and they bump noses more than five times in the span of three minutes.

Then Jongin grabs Sehun’s face, stares into his eyes, and says, “Hey, look at me. Let’s just – take a breath, yeah? It’s just us. Just you and me.”

Sehun inhales, then exhales when Jongin leans down to kiss him.

“Just you and me,” he echoes. Jongin smiles at him, a gentle curve of his lips that Sehun wants to feel against his skin.

Light from the streetlamps outside slants across the room between the folds of the curtains, dappling the sheets and their skin with pale streaks. The heat of Jongin’s mouth moves from the edge of Sehun’s jaw to the curve of his throat, leaving purple roses blooming against creamy skin in its wake.

Then that heat is travelling down his sternum, curling around the peaked nub of a nipple and working it until it’s sore and aching in the best way possible. Sehun buries his fingers into Jongin’s hair, subtly trying to coax him further south, and Jongin obeys without a fight.

He sighs when Jongin finally takes him into his mouth, the roaring in his ears suddenly dropping to silence filled only by his own jagged breaths. The pleasure is mind numbing, steady suction around the head of his cock and hot fingers teasing along the rest of his shaft.

Jongin hums at the taste, eyes closed as he works. His free hand travels up and down Sehun’s chest, from the dip between his clavicles to his navel and back again. It’s cold fire and Sehun can feel every single fingertip on his skin.

Sehun nearly bites on his tongue when a finger dips between his cheeks and caresses his hole, barely-there strokes that somehow has his toes curling and nails digging into his palms.

“Jongin, please –”

Pulling off, Jongin sucks a bruise into the flesh of Sehun’s inner thigh and looks up at him. “Yeah, I got you.” He catches the bottle of lube that Sehun throws at him and wastes no time in squeezing a dollop out onto his fingers, smearing the excess around the rim of muscle.

Sehun shivers at the sudden spread of cold, but he promptly forgets about it when a gentle finger works its way inside him, going deeper and deeper until the knuckle at the base is pressing against his perineum.

Lightning branches out inside him when Jongin crooks his finger, following the paths already hollowed out by his veins.

“Oh, fuck,” Sehun breathes, heels digging into the mattress for leverage to rock down.

Another finger slips in when Jongin deems him prepped enough, the digits spreading him wide open and making space for a clever tongue. At the first pass of Jongin’s tongue over his hole, something seizes up inside him and he literally forgets how to breathe for a few long moments, fingers digging bruises into his own thighs as he fights back the urge to come.

“Don’t,” Jongin murmurs, pulling his fingers out only to push them back in and twist. “Just come, I promise I won’t stop even if you do.”

He dives back in, tongue flicking into Sehun, kept open with his fingers. When Jongin licks in deep and closes his lips around the quivering rim, Sehun has absolutely no time to prepare himself for the harsh suck that shoves him right over the edge. He spills all over his stomach, cock flushed red and balls drawn up tight. A stray tear slips out of his eye and rolls down the side of his face.

True to his word, Jongin keeps going. He laps at Sehun until he’s wet and loose enough for a third finger before coaxing it in, closing a hand around himself at the sight of Sehun happily welcoming him in.

“You’re…” Jongin shakes his head, smooths his thumb along the sensitive skin behind Sehun’s balls. “You’re unbelievable.”

Sehun doesn’t seem to have heard him, too focused on his attempts to get Jongin’s fingers deeper, even though they’re already buried in as far as they can go. He’s hard again, hot against the drying mess on his stomach, and the moment he catches Jongin’s gaze he says, “Please.”

Jongin isn’t too sure how he managed to keep it together long enough to roll on a condom, but he does, and it’s mere seconds after that he finds himself seated inside burning silk. Long legs wrap around his middle and draw him even closer, heels nudging into the small of his back in a non-verbal request for him to start moving.

He doesn’t start off slow. No, now is not the time for that, for gentle lovemaking.

Instead, Jongin plants his hands on either side of Sehun’s head and pulls out until just the flare of his cockhead remains inside. His breath leaves him in one sharp exhale at the cling of Sehun’s walls around him and he fucks back in with enough force to leave them both struggling for composure.

Sehun’s hands fly up to grip Jongin’s shoulders, nails – he keeps them blunt for the piano – digging into taut muscles.

“ _Yes_.” The syllable breaks in the middle when he inhales a ragged breath, all senses honed in on the feeling of Jongin so deep inside him that he can almost taste it in the back of his throat.

It’s a good pace, fast yet slow enough to keep them satisfied and wanting more at the same time. Jongin keeps his mouth busy on the underside of Sehun’s jaw, lips and teeth working at the tender skin there, keeping words unsaid at bay and leaving petals of bruised wine in their wake.

Sehun clutches him tight, holds him close so that their hearts are beating against the other’s chest, and simply focuses on breathing through the waves upon waves of pleasure crashing down over him. It’s amazing, it’s all he’s ever wanted, and yet –

When one of Jongin’s hands make their way to the curve of Sehun’s neck, Sehun shudders.

“Yeah?” The desire is so thick in Jongin’s voice and Sehun knows it would be just as clear in his eyes. But he doesn’t look at Jongin, choosing instead to tilt his head further back and hum in assent.

With one last kiss to the corner of Sehun’s jaw, Jongin pushes himself back upright and wraps the span of his hand around a slim throat. Taking care to avoid pressure on the front of the throat, Jongin settles the pads of his fingers on the sides and looks down at Sehun.

“Okay?”

When he gets a tap to his hip – one tap: go, two taps: stop –, Jongin squeezes. He thrusts in, eyes fixated on the sight of his own hand curled so powerfully around such a vulnerable part of Sehun, and pulls out. Thrusts in, pulls out. Over and over again, making sure to ease off on the pressure every fifteen or twenty seconds to keep Sehun’s blood flowing to where it needs to.

Sehun’s moans are breathy and Jongin thinks the sound is one of the most beautiful ones his best friend has ever created. Lips, red and swollen from being thoroughly kissed and chewed, beckon to him, so he leans down and covers them with his own just as he tightens his grip once more.

Warm hands skate up the expanse of his back, bracketing his shoulders, and Sehun arches up into him like a cat in heat. Greedy, Jongin eats up all the sounds trickling freely from Sehun’s mouth into his, keeping them safe inside his heart.

Sehun pulls away when the need for air gets too much and Jongin instantly releases his hold, chasing after those painfully addictive lips and swiping his tongue along the swell.

“I wanna come,” Sehun whispers. With the thumb still hovering over Sehun’s jugular, he strokes the reddened skin there and kisses the corner of his mouth.

He keeps his hand around Sehun’s throat but he doesn’t apply anymore pressure, and Sehun doesn’t ask him to. Hitching trembling thighs up around his hips, Jongin picks up his pace for the final stretch.

Sehun’s cock is wet and drooling all over his stomach, spreading a soft sheen of deliciousness that Jongin can’t help but want to taste. So he does, smoothing a fingertip over the slit of Sehun’s cock and bringing the wetness to his lips.

He can feel Sehun’s eyes on him when he sucks his finger clean.

With the same finger, he rolls a nipple to a stiffened peak and ducks down to lap at it, relishing in the raspy keen it elicits. Sehun’s close; he can tell by the uncoordinated way Sehun clenches down around him and the opening and closing of his fingers around handfuls of the sheets.

When he scrapes his teeth along the nub in his mouth and thrusts in particularly hard, Sehun spills with a warbled cry of his name and pulses of his cock.

Jongin squeezes his throat just once more, affectionate. “There you go, baby.”

Sehun’s cock lets out one more burst of come at the pet name, and the sight is so goddamn hot that Jongin comes right there and then, hips stuttering as he rides out his orgasm inside a very fucked-out musician. Once he gets his bearings back, Jongin pulls out and flops down besides Sehun, the latter following his movements with his eyes.

Jongin turns to look at him, taking in the flush of his cheeks and the redness around his throat.

“It won’t leave a mark,” Sehun says, voice soft.

“I did leave a mark,” Jongin replies. He touches the bruise he’d sucked into Sehun’s flesh and grins.

“You know what I mean.” Sehun rolls his eyes and props himself up on his elbows, reaching out for the pack of wet wipes he keeps on his bedside table. As he wipes himself clean, Jongin rolls off the bed and dips into the bathroom to discard the condom and wash up.

Stark naked, he heads back into Sehun’s room and picks up his clothes. “You good?”

Sehun’s under the covers and looking quite content. He hums, burrowing deeper into his pillows. “Yeah, you?”

“Great. Sleep well, Sehun.”

Jongin turns to leave, but Sehun calls out his name and stops him in his tracks.

There’s a beat of silence, then Sehun mumbles, “Nevermind. Goodnight, Jongin,” and Jongin continues towards his room, feeling oddly bereft.

 

 

 

 

  
_Nine Years Ago_

Despite their best attempts, their friendship has remained relatively stagnant over the last few years. But this time, it truly wasn’t for the lack of trying – Jongin is busy tearing up the stage and Sehun is knee-deep in juggling both his graduate studies and professional commitments.

Over the past three years, Sehun could probably count the number of times they’ve managed to meet up outside of family events on both hands. Which is exactly why they have planned to spend a few days together in Sehun’s studio apartment during summer break. Jongin’s managed to wrangle a few vacation days from his dance company and the unspoken shared goal is to laze around and pig out on Sehun’s couch until they can feel their spirits separate from their physical bodies.

Sehun, excited about the prospect of finally getting to see his best friend, does his very best to wrap up as many of his projects as he can. He’s been composing soundtracks for several animated shows, and while it can be a very demanding job – he holds himself to an impossibly high standard –, Sehun quite enjoys it. But he wants to keep the next few days free, to spend time with Jongin instead of camping out in one of the university’s piano practice rooms and leaving his friend to fend for himself.

Jongin is due to arrive in four days, on a Friday, so Sehun wakes up on Monday morning and gets straight to work. He spends hours on campus seated behind his favourite practice piano and plays, occasionally stopping to scribble away on sheet paper. It’s gruelling work and his entire body complains day after day, sick of having to hunch over ivory keys for hours on end.

After a long and strenuous battle, determination emerges victorious and Sehun, eyes bloodshot and muscles sore, trudges home on Thursday like a true warrior. He showers, fixes himself a quick meal, and tumbles into bed once he finds the energy to walk the few steps from his couch to his bed. It only four in the afternoon, but he really just needs to… lie down and take a breath.

Of course, simply because he is a young, healthy adult male, ‘lying down and taking a breath’ eventually becomes, well, touching himself.

Hey, it’s a form of stress relief, alright?

It’s been a few months since the last time Sehun has had the satisfaction of feeling someone else’s body against his in the throes of ecstasy, and while he misses giving control of his own pleasure over to another person, he’s also perfectly content taking things into his own hands – so to speak.

Lazy and slow, he squeezes himself through his boxers as images float up into his mind. Of who, he will never admit, but honeyed skin and firm muscles are vivid in his imagination. He blames that one time, two years ago, when he’d gone to watch Jongin’s first official performance as the ballet’s newest principal dancer.

He was Jongin’s plus one to the party after that, and while alcohol was kept a minimum, they had somehow managed to scrounge up enough to fall into that pleasant haze between tipsy and drunk. Sehun remembers the bathroom clearly, surfaces gleaming and the scent of pine fresh in the air. He remembers the slam of the cubicle door against the wall when Jongin shoved him up against it, breath warm and cloying against his neck with the sweet scent of his latest cocktail.

He remembers the speed with which Jongin freed them of their pants, fabric pooling around their ankles as they moaned into each other’s mouths, Jongin’s hand hot around their cocks. It was messy, wet, and hurried, but Sehun remembers every bit of it, of their first and last time.

The feeling of their shared precome slicking the way is what he clings on to when he slips a lubed finger inside himself, wrist angled almost painfully in an attempt to reach that spot. His other hand is curled around the heft of his cock, applying just enough pressure to take the edge off while he preps himself.

Fire builds slow and steady with the stretch, a warmth behind his belly that Sehun wants to feel forever. When he’s able to take the width of three fingers, Sehun pulls them free and twists around to fumble in his bedside drawer for his favourite dildo. Ribbed with several vibration speeds, the seven-inch toy has been the key to several earth-shattering orgasms he’s had the pleasure to experience.

It slides in, sweet and thick like cream, and Sehun sighs shakily when the head nudges firmly against his prostate. The base flares out, enough to keep it in place without Sehun’s hand having to hold it there, and it’s with an eager thrill singing through his blood that he switches it on.

Feet flat on the bed and thighs splayed wide open, Sehun keeps his hands fisted in the pillows and basks in the insistent vibrations trying to take over his sanity. He clenches around the girth inside him, moaning when each squeeze of his ass causes the toy to rock up just a little deeper.

He feels weightless, muscles loose and bones hollow. This is what he wants, to be so drunk on pleasure that he knows nothing else. He can last ages like this, cock a line of wet heat on his own stomach, plugged full, prostate abused. He knows, because he’s done it before.

Once, Sehun had spent close to forty minutes in this state, sweat a slick sheen on his skin as pleasure-pain radiated throughout him, dildo soldiering on bravely until he finally came untouched with a weak cry. Spent and exhausted, unconsciousness overtook him for a while, and when Sehun found enough energy to crack open his eyes, he realised that the dildo was still buzzing away in his ass. This time, he came within minutes, fucking the toy in and out of himself until his cock dribbled out a few strings of come.

That was an amazing night, and Sehun’s hoping he can recreate it.

Hips rocking rhythmically into the air, Sehun lets pleasure lap at his toes and slowly venture higher, uncaring of the minutes slipping by. His mind is so blissfully empty of everything but the fake cock inside him that it takes an embarrassingly long time for him to notice he is not alone in his bedroom.

The sound of something hitting the floor has his eyes flying open, heart leaping into his throat in sheer panic.

“Fuck,” he hears, the voice hoarse and low and _awfully familiar_.

Sehun’s breath hitches. “Jongin?”

It’s not a hallucination – Jongin is really there, standing ramrod straight in his studio apartment with his bag lying by his feet. They stare at each other, probably unbreathing, and Sehun is horribly aware of the fact that he’s naked, cock still hard and lying along the seam of his thigh. He scrambles to sit up, but the movement and the new position shoves the dildo deeper inside him and he can’t help the moan that slips out.

“You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow,” Sehun whispers. He doesn’t move any further, scared of what might happen if he does.

Jongin lets out one bark of delirious laughter. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

They fall silent and the buzz of the dildo tries to fill it.

Sehun blushes madly, the heat in his cheeks threatening to light his face aflame.

“Could you, um –”

“Do you want help with that?”

Sehun’s cock jumps, precome pearling and staining his skin.

“What?”

Trapping his bottom lip between his teeth, Jongin takes a few cautious steps towards the bed and drags his gaze down the length of Sehun’s body. It lingers between his legs and Sehun fights the urge to both spread his legs and snap them shut at the same time.

“Do you want help,” Jongin repeats, setting a knee down on the edge of the bed. “With that?”

Sehun stares, vaguely aware of the fact that he’s so hard it hurts.

“If you want me to stop, just say so.” With that, Jongin climbs onto the bed and reaches for the base of the dildo, swiftly flicking the speed up to its highest. Sehun keens and scrabbles for purchase on his sheets, back arching as Jongin angles it just right.

With a warm hand on the back of Sehun’s thigh, Jongin pushes his legs up until Sehun’s knees are pressed against his chest. “Hold them there,” he instructs, and when Sehun obliges, he pulls the dildo out.

“ _No_ ,” Sehun cries, “no, please –”

Jongin swallows at the sight of Sehun’s stretched hole, the skin dusky and smooth, just a little puckered where it clenches and relaxes. He nudges the dildo back inside, slipping in with one smooth push. With Jongin controlling the toy, fucking it in and out with fervour, Sehun barely manages to last a handful of minutes.

He comes with a scream, body locking, and Jongin presses the dildo deep, keeping it there with his palm flat against the base until Sehun’s crying from overstimulation.

Then he pulls it out, switches it off, and runs gentle fingertips over his best friend’s sensitive hole.

Sehun’s mind is hazy, but he still notices the heavy bulge in the front of Jongin’s jeans. He reaches out for it, but Jongin stops him with a hand around his wrist.

“It’s okay.”

“But –”

“I can handle it.”

Sehun doesn’t know if he should be offended or relieved. It must show on his face, because Jongin gives him a small, amused smile and says, “Alright. If you want to help, turn over?”

“Turn… over?”

“Spread yourself,” Jongin elaborates. “Let me see your hole.”

God, if he wasn’t so fucked out, Sehun would’ve instantly gotten hard at that.

He flips around onto his stomach, lifting his hips and resting his weight on his knees and shoulders. With shaky hands, he reaches back to spread his cheeks apart, ears honed in on the sound of Jongin’s ragged intake of breath and the click of his zipper as he pulls himself out.

Muted, wet sounds join the fray soon after, and Sehun twists around just enough to see Jongin furiously stripping away at his cock.

“Can I?”

“Yeah,” he answers, mouth dry. Maybe he should ask for it down his throat instead?

But before he can, Jongin’s knuckles bump against his ass and he feels the warmth of spunk smeared all over his tailbone and down his crack. He hears Jongin’s heavy breathing slow and an idea jumps to mind.

He runs a finger through the mess Jongin left behind and pushes a glob of come inside himself. The effect is immediate – Jongin groans and pushes Sehun’s hands away, replacing them with his own as he drags the flat of his tongue up and over Sehun’s hole. He cleans him well, well enough that Sehun’s hard again by the time Jongin is done.

Sehun wants more, but he doesn’t let himself have more. Thighs weak, he stumbles off the bed and towards the bathroom, a hand covering his erection until he’s safely inside with the door locked. Minutes later, he’s releasing into the toilet.

When he’s cleaned up and composed, Sehun ventures back into the apartment to find Jongin standing in the kitchen, his back to him. The bed is stripped of its sheets and he can hear the washing machine running.

“Hey,” Jongin says, sounding far too casual for what has just transpired between them mere moments ago. “I’m starting on dinner. You’re okay with anything, right?”

Ah, so this is how it’s going to go. Somehow, Sehun isn’t surprised.

“Yeah.” He crosses over to the closet and grabs a change of clothes. “Sure. Anything’s fine. I’m going to shower.”

As the bathroom door shuts behind him once more, he swears he hears Jongin sigh.

 

 

 

  
_Present Day_

Sehun’s half-asleep, the lukewarm coffee in his mug not enough to offset the monotone drone coming from the mouth of one of the department heads. Jongin is a few seats away, leg jiggling so rapidly that Sehun swears he can feel the vibration travelling through the hardwood floors. They’re at one of the biggest faculty meetings of the year – planning for the Spring Gala is underway, and there has been a brand new addition to the setlist.

Several of the Gala co-chairs wish to see performances by the faculty, by those in charge of cultivating the talents and skills of the next generation of artists. It’s a nice idea, Sehun has to admit, but he’s not awake enough to fully consider it. That is, until Jongin tosses a balled up piece of paper at his chest and goes, “Hey, wanna perform together? You play the piano and I dance?” Around them, their colleagues chitter in approval. Junmyeon, a self-proclaimed fan of Jongin’s dancing, pats his back in excited encouragement.

Sehun blinks at his friends’ expectant faces – even Kyungsoo looks interested, something that rarely happens unless Junmyeon and/or theatre is involved – and finds himself agreeing.

 

 

 

  
After the meeting, Sehun unearths several pieces he’d composed for a job but never ended up using, playing them on a loop over the course of a few evenings until Jongin finally selects a couple.

They’ve got a fair bit of time before the Gala, so they work at home instead of using one of the practice rooms, knowing that students probably need it more than they do.

Vivi watches them sometimes, perched on the back of the couch as Jongin choreographs – contemporary, because it flows better with Sehun’s music – and Sehun works on polishing the pieces, tweaking them so they sound complete with just the piano instead of the myriad of instruments they’re supposed to incorporate. She’ll eventually get bored, padding her way over to her food bowl to eat a few bites before curling up next to her doggy bed and dozing off.

“Hey,” Jongin pants, sweat beading on his brow and slithering down the line of his spine. “I can’t, for the life of me –” He cuts himself off with a huff. “Which eight-count looks better?”

The music stops abruptly when Sehun swivels around on his seat to watch Jongin run through two different eight-counts, the dancer moving to the rhythm ingrained in his mind.

“The second one,” Sehun decides after asking Jongin to go through them a few more times. “There’s more… substance to it. More soul.”

Jongin visibly deflates with exhaustion. He heads towards the couch, only to stop at the last minute and sprawl out on the floor instead. Sweat on a fabric couch is a big no-no. “ _Thank_ you. I’ve been stuck on that for the longest time.”

“You should’ve asked me earlier,” Sehun says, running his fingertips over the keys of his piano. He plays a few random notes before standing and stretching, giving all of his knuckles a satisfying crack.

A warm hand latches onto his ankle when he walks towards the kitchen and Sehun looks down to see Jongin peering up at him, squinting against the lights.

“I’ve missed this.”

Sehun tilts his head. “This?”

“Working together. Creating something together.”

“But you’ve been dancing to my music regularly,” Sehun says, confused. “The last time was last Thursday.”

With a groan, Jongin sits upright and shifts easily into a side split. His hand doesn’t leave Sehun’s ankle. “That’s not what I meant. Yes, I dance to your music all the time, but that’s at home and in practice rooms – where it’s just us. This is going to be performed up on stage, to almost a thousand people, and it’ll be something we’ve created together. It’s ours.”

He’s right, Sehun realises. It’s been a while since they’ve performed together on stage.

“It’s been…”

“Five years,” Jongin supplies. His thumb strokes absently over Sehun’s skin, a natural action that has Sehun mesmerised. “I think. Or whenever it was that I danced to _Sonatine_ and you swooped in to replace the pianist and save the day.”

Jongin finally lets go and sinks deeper into the stretch, leaning forward until his chest is pressed against the floor. He turns his head, pillowing it on his arms just so he can continuing looking up at his friend. Sehun tries not to think about what transpired after he saved the day, but judging by the rush of heat rising up to his cheeks, he’s failing terribly.

“We should do it more often,” Jongin continues, as casual as someone suggesting a place for dinner.

“We’re thirty-three,” Sehun laugh, perhaps a little shakily. “Our peaks, arguably, have been over for a while now.”

With an exhale, Jongin sits back up and folds his legs in. “Mine, perhaps. Your talent will be unparalleled for as long as you want it to be.” He pats Sehun’s foot – fondly? lovingly? – and stands. “Want a drink? I’m getting some iced tea.”

 

 

 

  
Raindrops tap gently against the windowpane and Sehun takes a few seconds to glance outside. It’s dreary, everything tinged with grey as the storm clouds overhead release their contents all over the city. They’ll be dry, at least, holed up in one of Juilliard’s practice room for the next couple of hours.

There’s one week to go before the Gala. Their performance is as perfect as it can possibly be, and today, they’ve asked Kyungsoo and Junmyeon to stop by and watch as they run through the ten-minute piece.

Jongin’s taking a break, one hand clutching a bottle of water and the other busy kneading out the muscles in his calf. His hair, damp with sweat, hangs in his face and Sehun cannot help but take in his fill of Jongin through the mirrors. From the length of his legs and the solidity of his torso to the strong column of his neck that he himself has used as a canvas for declarations of carnal pleasure.

Swallowing, he turns back to the piano and dives into a random piece, the keys no longer cool to the touch, having been warmed by his fingers over the past half hour. Sehun’s come to realise that sometimes, playing the piano is nothing but an emotional crutch. He thinks of nothing but the music when he plays and it has saved him from so many mental breakdowns over the years.

He plays and plays, transitioning from one piece to the next, and it’s only the slam of the door that pulls him out of whatever mental space he’s dug out for himself.

Kyungsoo’s leaning against the side of the piano with a huge cup of black coffee in his hands. “I liked that.”

“Thanks,” Sehun laughs, standing to greet his friend with a hug. After the pleasantries have been exchanged, Jongin ushers the couple over to a wall and sits them down.

“Okay, we want your honest opinion. No sugar coating anything just because we’re friends.”

Kyungsoo snorts. “So, treat you like I treat my students? Done and done.”

When Junmyeon sets a hand on Kyungsoo’s knee, Sehun can’t help but smile. Having been together for what seems like forever – at least as long as he’s known them –, the two of them share such a uniquely comfortable relationship that is amazing to witness.

At times, it reminds him of himself and Jongin, although he’s quick to dispel that thought.

He settles back into his seat and waits for Jongin to get into position, fingers splayed over the piano keys. Then Jongin says his name, and Sehun counts to three in his mind before he begins to play.

It’s over in a flash. As the last note resonates through the room, Sehun sucks in a deep breath that pulls at his ribs.

“I don’t think I possess the necessary words to describe it,” Junmyeon says after a beat. “I could cry, honestly. How have you guys never performed together before?”

Jongin pulls a towel through his hair and drapes it around his neck. “We have, just not here.”

“Magical. You complement each other in more ways than one and what comes out of it is nothing short of otherworldly. The audience will love this, I’m sure of it.”

 

 

 

  
It’s jarringly loud and the air smells like grease, but Sehun is so in love with his cheeseburger than he doesn’t want to be anywhere else but in this diner, squished into a tiny booth with Jongin seated opposite him.

“Aren’t you hungry? You’re the dancer and yet I’m the one eating like I’ve just executed a thousand pirouettes in ten minutes.”

Although most of his fries are gone, Jongin’s barely made a dent in his own burger.

“Not particularly,” Jongin admits. “I’m… nervous. For tomorrow.”

“Nervous?” Dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin, Sehun sets the rest of his burger aside and frowns at his friend. “But you’re never nervous. Performing is in your blood.”

Jongin dunks a soggy fry into ketchup and draws random lines on his plate with it. He shrugs, eyes flicking up to meet Sehun’s gaze for a second or two before returning to the plate.

“This is different, I guess. This is something that’s ours, you know, and I want to…” He drops the fry and picks up another. “I want to make you proud.”

A ball of emotion springs up from the pit of his stomach and lodges in his throat. Sehun takes a large gulp of water, grimacing when it does nothing to help, and stares at the mess of ketchup all over Jongin’s plate.

“You’ve already made me proud.”

Jongin’s lips part as if he wishes to say something, but he closes them and settles for a smile instead. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Ever since your first Swan Lake recital when you were nine.”

A soft laugh, then Jongin finally picks up his burger and takes a large bite. The warmth that floods through Sehun’s body isn’t foreign, not in the least.

 

 

 

  
Jongin’s hand is warm around his own, the palm just a little clammy from nerves.

In less than a minute, they’ll be up on stage and under the spotlights. Sehun, in a pair of fitted pants and a deep emerald silk shirt he’s told brings out the flecks of amber in his eyes, is visibly overdressed compared to Jongin’s favourite pair of ballet leggings – the sole piece of clothing on the dancer’s body. He feels just as exposed, however, keenly aware that they are about to perform something that’s become dearly important to them.

All the tickets have been sold out.

He’s played much longer concertos to much larger crowds, but god, standing in the wings and looking out at the stage with Jongin right next to him? This is not another notch of success in his career. No, this is just them doing what they’re best at, with the person they work best with.

“You’ll be great. We’ll do great,” he murmurs, not entirely sure if it’s for Jongin’s benefit or his own.

Jongin simply squeezes his hand in response.

The students on stage bow, the lights dim, and Sehun listens through the cresting wave of applause for the sound of the piano being wheeled out. Then Jongin’s lips are right by his ear and he hears a hot, “Break a leg,” before they’re out there and Jongin’s hand slips away from his grasp.

Their mothers are in the audience, always excited to see their sons perform no matter how many times they’ve done so in the past. The fact never fails to make Sehun just as happy as it did when he was a child.

He takes his seat, caresses the keys, and waits for Jongin to get into position.

The theatre falls silent and he can almost taste the anticipation in the air, heavy and thick and sharp. Jongin shakes out his muscles and gets into position, and despite the light in his eyes, Sehun manages to catch his gaze.

A shared nod, a breath, and he plays.

It’s hot underneath the spotlights but Sehun barely registers the heat, focusing instead on the notes ringing in his ears and the resistance of the keys. In his periphery, Jongin is a whirlwind on stage, powerful and devastating, and Sehun feels the blood sing in his veins.

Ten minutes have never passed so quickly in his life.

The last note is reverberating throughout the theatre when he lifts his gaze to look out at the crowd, swathed in a sheet of black but very clearly there, if the thunderous applause is anything to go by. When he looks over at his best friend, he sees the exhilaration clear on his face, every muscle in his body corded and tight after executing such a demanding routine.

Then Jongin releases all the tension in his body, swivelling around and making a beeline for Sehun, the latter still seated with his hands poised over the keys. Sehun finds himself pulled up to his feet, the applause building in volume when they, hand in hand, step towards the front of the stage.

They bow, the act of showing gratitude to an audience ingrained in them, holding the position until the applause finally dies down.

“Hey,” Sehun hears, and he turns to Jongin. “That was… beyond perfect. Thank you.”

“I –” Sehun swallows. “Yeah, it was. Thank you, too.” There’s something unsaid there, evident to both.

Jongin’s eyes linger on his face for a few beats, then the spotlights go out and Sehun can’t see him any more.

 

 

 

  
_Five Years Ago_

This particular moment is the culmination of a certain piece of news passing through multiple mouths. Sehun finds himself standing outside Rose Studio, plastered against the wall in an attempt to keep out of the way as dozens of dancers rush to their various classes.

“Sehun?”

It’s impossible to pick up on Jongin’s voice through all the hubbub.

“Sehun!”

Sehun whips around to see Jongin waving at him, his torso stuck out of one of the studios, hair a mess and still just as gorgeous as Sehun remembers. When he steps into the studio, he’s greeted with a room full of dancers with identical looks of relief on their faces.

“Thank you _so_ much,” Jongin says, a hand heavy on Sehun’s shoulder. “Opening night is tomorrow and just for that night, none of our other pianists are free. You’re literally our saviour.” Everyone murmurs their agreement and a prim, elderly woman appears through the crowd. Stern, but with kind eyes, she steps up to him and extends her hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Oh. Your assistance is greatly appreciated. I’m Lisa, one of the ballet masters here.”

A little overwhelmed, Sehun shakes her hand before shuffling his way over the piano situated in the corner. “You’re most welcome, but you should probably thank whoever spread the news. I wouldn’t have found out otherwise.” He takes a sit and hits a couple of keys just to get a feel of them. “I assume you’d like to hear me play?”

“I told her you’re one of the best pianists out there, but they won’t take my word for it.” The second half of Jongin’s sentence is said so petulantly that Sehun can’t help the fond twitch of his lips.

“I’m sure Mr. Oh understands the need?”

“Of course,” Sehun says swiftly with a nod in Lisa’s direction. “It’s not a problem. This isn’t a piece I often play, after all. _Sonatine_ is a pas de deux, right? Would the pair like to dance while I play?”

 

 

 

  
Ballet tights _really_ leave nothing to the imagination, Sehun thinks forlornly.

Opening night has gone swimmingly, ending with a standing ovation. Now, all the dancers are riding an adrenaline high, laughter and shouts of _that was amazing! you did so well!_ ringing in the air as they clamber over one another to get dressed and leave to celebrate. Sehun hides in the shadows and observes, bound in place by his agreement to Jongin’s request for dinner.

The man in question is off in a changing room or another, and Sehun is pleasantly surprised when he isn’t forced to wait for more than ten minutes. Jongin fights his way through the crowd and smiles at him, easy and warm, and Sehun follows him out into the night.

“Thank you again,” Jongin says once things are quiet enough. “I know you’re busy, so you taking the time to come and do this for us means a lot to me.”

Sehun shrugs, “What are friends for?”

They head to a nearby restaurant – Japanese food, a safe choice – and Sehun graciously allows Jongin to pay for the meal. They keep conversation casual, trading anecdotes about their respective careers and social lives. It’s hard to not think about how much of each other’s lives they’ve missed out on, but Sehun tries not to dwell on such thoughts.

“Dating anyone?” Jongin asks, sandwiching a particularly thick slice of shiitake mushroom between his chopsticks.

Sehun hates that question. “Sort of.” He pushes a spoonful of rice about in his bowl. “Nothing serious, just something to keep me occupied. You?”

“Nah, too busy for anything like that. Not a lot of people will understand how much I have to give up for what I do, you know? And dating a fellow dancer just isn’t smart.”

“I understand,” Sehun says. They trade small smiles before turning back to their food and Sehun can’t help but think about a promise made all those years ago.

When their bellies are full, Jongin pushes for dessert and Sehun easily agrees, his sweet tooth springing forth with great enthusiasm at the idea of anything hojicha flavoured.

“Could I ask for some advice?”

Their waiter has barely departed from their table when Jongin leans in, resting his chin on the heel of his hand. Sehun nods and busies himself with sipping some tea.

“I’ve been offered an opportunity to teach. Full-time, at Juilliard.”

Sehun leans back in his seat, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? You’d have to leave the Ballet if you take that up, no?”

“Yeah. Which is why I’m at a crossroads. I’ve been with the Ballet for a decade, given them my blood, sweat, and tears, and the idea of leaving is… so foreign. But I’m not getting any younger, and there’s only so much more than my body can take.” Sighing, Jongin reaches back with a hand to press along the nape of his neck. Sehun patiently waits for him to continue. “Teaching is fulfilling, that much I know. I wouldn’t be where I am if I didn’t have the guidance I was gifted with. If I’m able to be that for the younger generation… well, I wouldn’t mind.”

Their desserts come, putting a brief lull to their conversation.

“I think,” Sehun says after a mouthful of hojicha soft serve, “that you have already made a decision.”

Jongin looks at him for a long beat, the faintest furrow between his brows. Then his lips quirk and he spears his fork through mochi. “Yeah, I think I have.”

 

 

 

  
Jongin, ever the gallant soul, walks Sehun back to his apartment.

It’s late enough that the streets are mostly empty, with nothing but a few cars and the occasional person crossing through the pools of light that dot the roads and sidewalks.

“It’s good to see you,” Jongin remarks, looking both ways before stepping off the curb. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It really has.”

They bump shoulders, Jongin’s frame listing just a little to the left to allow for the playful contact. Sehun smiles, Jongin laughs, and for that moment, everything is as it should be.

“My contract’s ending soon,” Sehun says, a little suddenly. He feels Jongin’s eyes on him immediately after the words leave his mouth.

“Yeah? You know what you’re gonna do after?”

Sehun shrugs. “No idea, honestly. Maybe I’ll move back to NYC.”

“You should. I can see you more often if you do.”

There’s probably something he should say in response to that – he _knows_ he has something to say in response to that – but Sehun’s building looms into view and they pause at the front doors.

“You, uh, do you want to come up?”

 

 

 

  
He’s got his hands full of a toned ass, scapulas sore from how hard Jongin’s pressing him against the wall. Lips are hot and messy against the column of his neck, and when teeth sink into the meat of his shoulder, Sehun groans and flips them around.

The only light source is the stretch of yellow glow coming in under the front door, courtesy of the hallway. Light isn’t necessary, however, for Sehun to slip the button of Jongin’s jeans through its hole and shove a hand right down the front.

“ _God_ ,” Jongin hisses, rocking up into the touch. “You – I want you inside me.”

Their mouths slide together, desperate enough for teeth to catch against flesh and draw blood. The coppery tang of it brings out something primal in them, and from there, it’s a mad rush to the nearest comfortable surface.

The TV remote digs deep into Sehun’s side when they collapse onto the couch and he flings it across the room, where it breaks apart upon impact. He hears the sound of batteries rolling away, but he’s too preoccupied with a very demanding Jongin hovering over his lap to care.

Getting out of their clothes proves to be a daunting challenge, as neither one of them are willing to break the kiss to do so. In the end, a few buttons fly off Sehun’s shirt and Jongin rams his ankle against the coffee table during his attempt to kick off his pants. All in all, a successful battle.

All coherency – not that he has much left – flies out of Sehun’s mind when he catches sight of the garment currently keeping Jongin’s erection hidden from view.

“Is that –”

“It’s a dance belt,” Jongin tells him between kisses to Sehun’s jaw. “Not a thong.”

“Could be a thong,” Sehun mumbles to himself, running exploratory hands down the sultry curve of Jongin’s back. His fingers skim past the waistband and he almost chokes on his moan when he gets instant access to the ass he was staring at backstage just hours ago.

“ _Should_ be a thong,” he groans, grabbing a handful of muscle and flesh. Jongin snorts into the jut of Sehun’s clavicle and rises up on his knees.

“I’ll wear one if you wear one. That’s fair, isn’t it?” Jongin laughs at Sehun’s speechlessness and slides off the couch. “Why don’t you mull that over while I clean up in the bathroom? See you in bed, hm?”

Shameless, Jongin does just that, strutting off in the direction of the bathroom in that goddamn dance belt. Sehun stares, swears, and steps right on the batteries when he dashes into his bedroom.

 

 

 

  
He’s buried as deep as he can be inside the dancer and all Sehun can do is try not to come too early. Jongin’s got his hands pinned up above his head, a figure of grace and power as he rides Sehun like a champion.

“Let me –”

“No,” Jongin says. His smirk is sharp enough to kill. “I have your cock in me, so I’m controlling how this goes.”

“Is that the new rule?” Sehun’s nails are digging craters into the meat of his palms from how hard he’s struggling to keep it together. “If my memory doesn’t fail me, that wasn’t how it was those last few times.”

“New rule,” Jongin agrees, puncturing his words by dropping down onto Sehun’s cock and successfully wrenching a groan out of the man. “Feel free to enforce it next time.”

Unable to find any purchase on the sheets, the heels of Sehun’s feet skid across the surface in his many failed attempts to try and regain some form of control. On what is the twenty-third (he _did_ count, damnit) time he tries and fails, Sehun gives up and closes his eyes, focusing on the tight grip of Jongin around his cock and wrists and the line of heat of Jongin’s erection on his stomach.

“That’s good, baby,” Jongin praises, thumb firm over the static hum of Sehun’s pulse. “Just lie there and enjoy it, yeah?”

A thin, pleading noise slips out of Sehun’s throat and Jongin eats it right up. Through the burning smog in his mind, Sehun thinks about the sheer strength in Jongin’s thighs – it takes a lot of power to ride someone for what feels like three whole hours without a single break. Ah, he wishes he could just _touch_ them.

“You wanna come?”

“You gonna let me?”

Jongin laughs, finally releasing Sehun’s wrists before sitting back and peering down at him. “Yes, if you make me come first.”

 _Easy_ , Sehun wants to say. Instead, he shakes out the aches in his arms and wraps a firm hand around Jongin’s erection, spreading slick from the slit down the shaft with his palm. It’s hot to the touch, the flesh flushed with blood and aching for relief.

Jongin rides his cock with renewed fervour and Sehun does his very best to keep up with his pace, working away at Jongin’s erection until precome is a slick sheen all over his palm and the glide is smooth and wet.

Orgasm builds up like a forest fire, a relentless rush of pleasure spreading from his toes to the very roots of his hair. With a harsh swipe of his thumb of the dribbling slit of Jongin’s cock, he manages to wrench the other’s orgasm out of him before he comes too, balls drawn in tight as he shouts out his release.

For a while, he just floats. There’s a place in his mind that he rarely visits, a place only open to him after mind-blowing sex, and it’s a place that Jongin seems to have the only key to. It’s got a pleasant buzz to it, a warmth that he wants curled around his shoulders every second of every day, and the oversensitivity of his cock rides a fine line between pleasure and pain that he always ends up classifying as Definitely Pleasurable. That’s where he is now, reality just a fuzzy line around the edges of his consciousness. He’s vaguely aware of the tackiness between his fingers and the heat around his cock, and he _thinks_ that’s Jongin breath hitting the side of his neck.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but when things start coming back into focus, water is already running inside the bathroom. Glancing down, Sehun sees that his body is clean and the condom is off his cock.

“Thanks,” he calls, rough and throaty.

Jongin simply laughs.

 

 

 

  
_Present Day_

“You’re turning 34 soon.”

Jongin grimaces, holding Vivi in place while Sehun scrubs at her fur with doggie shampoo. Clearly disgruntled, Vivi glares at her Dad and Step-Dad but doesn’t squirm, resigned to looking like a wet rat with her fur wet and plastered to her tiny frame.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Almost 35.”

Jongin growls in warning and Sehun shuts up with a grin, not wanting to get splashed with water. He’s perched on the edge of the tub – Jongin picked the short end of the stick today, relegated to sitting in dog water, Vivi between his knees and his hands encircling her body. At least the water is warm.

“Mum’s been bugging me about marriage,” Jongin mutters, shifting his grip so Sehun can get access to Vivi’s belly. Sehun pause is barely noticeable, but then again, Jongin notices everything when it comes to him. Neither one points it out, however, and Sehun continues scrubbing at Vivi’s fur with his pulse heavy on his tongue.

“Maybe you should,” Sehun begins, hating the way the words sound, “get back into the dating game.”

Sehun’s done soaping up his dog by the time Jongin replies.

“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I should.”

Vivi gets a face full of water when Sehun’s hand slips on the showerhead and she barks indignantly at him. Sehun takes the reprimand in stride.

 

 

 

  
A gentle knock on the door has him looking up from his computer screen.

Jongin heads in, clad in jeans and a soft henley, and grabs a handful of M&Ms from the jar on Sehun’s desk.

“Lunch? I think Baekhyun’s back in town, so Junmyeon and Kyungsoo suggested we meet up.”

“Sure,” Sehun replies absently, fingers flying across the keyboard as he types out a response to one of his students. “Just give me a minute to finish this up? And you probably shouldn’t be killing your appetite with all that chocolate.”

Jongin pulls a face – “Classy,” Sehun quips – and shoves all the candy into his mouth at one go.

The dancer spends a few minutes thumbing through the stacks of sheet music that Sehun has neatly sorted into piles, recognising a few as those he’d danced to in the past. Sehun finishes with his email soon enough, one hand grabbing his coat off the back of his chair and the other steering Jongin away from the M&Ms and towards the door.

It’s a short walk to the campus café – it’s far too cold to be heading out farther than that – and they spend the journey discussing the adoption of a second dog.

“I don’t think I want a big dog,” Sehun says, shoving his friend away when Jongin attempts to slide an icy hand into his pocket for warmth. “And _please_ invest in a coat with warm pockets. If not, your Christmas present is going to be an ugly pair of mittens that I will glue to your hands.”

Jongin grins, all cheekiness and no remorse. “Okay, no big dog. Don’t want it to get into your underwear drawer and rip up all those expensive thongs, huh?” He gets a smack to the stomach for that, but he simply laughs the sting away. “How about a poodle? We can get a poodle with dark fur to match Vivi.”

“That sounds alright,” Sehun says, flattening himself against the door against a horde of students rushing out. “But it’ll be your dog. Vivi is more than enough for me.”

“Sure, sure. But you’ll come with me when I start looking around, right?”

It takes a bit of navigating, but they make it to the far end of the café, where Kyungsoo is busying manning their table.

“They’re ordering,” Kyungsoo says once they’ve taken their seats. “Junmyeon’s getting your usuals, if that’s okay.”

Jongin ends up rushing over to the counter to change his order and Sehun promptly engages Kyungsoo in a conversation about the upcoming Spring drama production. They chat until their friends return, at which point Baekhyun pulls Sehun up into such a tight hug that he almost feels his ribs squeak.

“How was Tianjin?” Sehun wheezes, dropping down onto his seat the second Baekhyun releases him.

Baekhyun, a vocal professor, had been sent overseas to help with getting things into order for Tianjin Juilliard’s inaugural year. With him gone, life over the past few months has been… quieter, for lack of a better word.

“We can talk about that later,” Baekhyun says with a grand wave of his hand. “I want to talk about you two.” He points slender fingers at Sehun and Jongin, and the two trade confused looks.

“Us?”

“ _Why_ ,” Baekhyun demands, “did you guys break up?”

Jongin nearly chokes on a mouthful of scalding hot coffee. “ _What?_ ”

Across the table, Kyungsoo’s got a spoonful of chilli halfway to his mouth, the contents steadily dribbling back into the bowl as his spoon tilts lower and lower. Junmyeon, ever the good boyfriend, wipes a splatter of chilli off Kyungsoo’s chin.

“You guys broke up. Why?”

“We –” Sehun chews on his bottom lip. “We broke up?”

Baekhyun frowns. “Well, yeah, otherwise why would Jongin be asking to be set up on blind dates? Unless –” He gasps, eyes narrowing as he turns to Jongin. “You’re _cheating!_ ”

There’s a hot minute of silence before Sehun splutters out, “He’s not cheating, Baek, _oh my god_. We were never together in the first place!”

Their friend blinks owlishly at them, lips slowly parting into an O before his brows draw together. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Sehun says, glancing over at Jongin. The dancer’s busy trying to keep his cool together, not that he’s doing it well. “We’re just… best friends and roommates,” he finishes weakly.

Kyungsoo finally eats that mouthful of chilli and chews pointedly, shoving an extra spoon into Junmyeon’s hand and practically forcing him to do the same.

“I take it back,” Jongin mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No blind dates, Junmyeon, thanks.”

A gust of wind swirls inside when the doors open and it chills Sehun to the bone.

 

 

 

  
After over two decades of friendship, Sehun has long since run out of ideas for presents. With at least two presents a year – birthday and Christmas –, Sehun now knows for a fact that Jongin has every material item he’s ever wanted. Hell, he was the one who had bought him a life-sized Doctor Who TARDIS back during Jongin’s obsession with the series.

Thankfully, they’re at an age where presents don’t really mean much anymore. So Sehun plans a simple birthday dinner for just the two of them, complete with home-cooked food and a piece he’d composed just for his friend. After his classes, Jongin will be busy spending a few hours with his family, giving Sehun enough time for preparations.

After tidying up the apartment, he spends close to two hours sweating it out over the stove, accompanied by Vivi weaving her way around his ankles in high hopes of catching morsels of food that might fall off the countertops and into her waiting mouth.

Jongin texts him just as he’s finishing up in the kitchen, a simple _be home in half an hour_ , and Sehun nearly trips over Vivi in a panic when he bolts into the bathroom for a quick shower. As much as it pulls together a dish, he would prefer not to smell like garlic, thank you very much.

He’s just stepping out of the shower when he hears his name being called.

“In a minute!”

Pressed slacks and another silk shirt with the first few buttons left open – Sehun gives himself a scrutinizing look, half-heartedly fiddling with strands of his damp hair until he gives up and steps out.

He finds Jongin knelt on the floor by the kitchen island, Vivi in his arms and happily licking off bits of sauce from the dancer’s fingers.

“She’s already eaten enough of that,” Sehun informs him with a smile. He pulls a bottle of wine out of the fridge and collects a couple of glasses, pouring out a generous amount into them as Vivi lets out a contented yip. Deeming Jongin’s fingers clean, Vivi squirms out of his grasp and trots over to her pile of toys, where she latches on to a stuffed slice of pizza and begins gnawing on it.

“Smells good,” Jongin says. He lifts a glass in thanks and takes a sip, eyes roving across the kitchen and taking in the sight of pots and pans filled with food. “Damn, how long did this take you?”

Sehun smiles and bends to pull the roast out of the oven. “Hey, it was worth it. It’s your birthday. Now come on, I have something to play for you while the meat rests.”

With a hand around Jongin’s wrist, they make their way over to the couch. Sehun gestures for Jongin to take a seat before turning around to where their stereo sits neatly on a shelf. He hits play.

This piece, written a couple of months ago over the course of many nights, is a valiant effort at stuffing nearly twenty-six years of the most intense relationship Sehun has ever had into a little over four minutes. He’d recruited the help of a few colleagues at Juilliard, and after a dozen recording sessions, it’s finally ready to be gifted to Jongin.

Aptly titled _As We Always Were_ , it starts off gently, with nothing but the piano leading the way. Then the flute comes in, happy and carefree, before it’s joined by the string instruments. They pull the piece up towards the climax, insistent, and it’s halfway through when the drop hits, accompanied by a whole flurry of drums, bass, and electric instruments. It’s tumultuous, passionate, and aflame with something that can’t quite be put into words.

Sehun knows; he’s tried many times. So he’d decided to put it into music, instead.

The piano stays, ever-constant, in the background. It stays in the background for most of it, only resurfacing after the battle has been fought and peace settles back in. Now, it’s not quite as innocent and childlike as it was in the beginning, but it’s stable again, and there’s an ease to the flow of the music that was never there before.

It ends on a solid note, much like their relationship now. Comfortable, warm, a home away from home.

When the music ends, Sehun switches the stereo off and turns to look at the birthday boy.

Jongin’s staring right at him, the wine in his glass untouched but his knuckles pale white around the stem.

 

 

 

  
Something sharp is digging into the small of his back, but Sehun is solely focused on the sharpness of Jongin’s eyes instead. Neither of them have spoken for what seems like forever, the silence filled with their breathing and growls from Vivi as she wrestles with her toy.

It’s stifling, panic-inducing. “Say something. Anything.”

He watches Jongin’s jaw clench and unclench, the wheels in his mind obviously working at full capacity thinking about god-knows-what.

“Jongin.”

Jongin takes a breath and releases it in one shaky exhale.

“Do you remember?” Jongin’s glass of wine finds its way onto the shelf, next to a collection of books. He speaks quietly, as if he’s afraid of what he might hear. “That pact we made when we were twelve?”

Sehun’s pulse is racing, blood roaring in his ears and heart pounding so quickly he feels lightheaded. Does he remember? He wants to laugh, wants to cry, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

“I didn’t think _you_ remembered,” is what he says instead.

Something in Jongin’s gaze shifts. “You want to know why I don’t want to turn 35?”

Sehun tries a smile, feels it spread across his lips with bitterness. “Don’t wanna marry your best friend?”

“No.” Jongin takes a step closer and their toes brush. “I didn’t want to hit 35, _want_ to marry you, and have you not remember.”

“I’ve never forgotten. Not for a single day.”

A warm hand slides around his jaw, soft and tender and safe. Sehun thinks he loves him.

“Do you remember,” Sehun begins, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles into Jongin’s touch. “What you said to me during that one Thanksgiving?”

Jongin’s thumb sweeps across his cheekbone, so fond that Sehun aches for more.

“What did I say?”

“You said you’ll always love me.” When Jongin cups his face with both hands and leans in to press their foreheads together, Sehun can’t help but add in a whisper, “Do you still?”

“I said always, didn’t I? You know I don't say things I don't mean."

Jongin barely manages to get the whole sentence out before Sehun’s lips are on his, desperate for something they could’ve had long, long ago but never had the courage to fight for.

“Do you love me?”

This time, Sehun really does laugh, huffing against Jongin’s mouth. “I know you know I do. I _know_.”

Jongin kisses him and doesn’t stop kissing him, tangling his fingers into Sehun’s hair and pulling him impossibly close. Sehun relinquishes his mouth without a fight and gives Jongin free reign to claim and take and plunder. He closes a hand around Jongin’s wrist and feels his pulse light up under his touch, a spark of lightning between their skin.

They part only when their lips are plum-tender.

“Happy birthday.” Sehun drags a thumb across Jongin’s lower lip, gut clenching at the feeling of Jongin’s breath fanning across his fingertip.

“Marry me,” Jongin says, pressing a kiss to the pad of Sehun’s thumb.

Despite the warmth of being in Jongin’s embrace, Sehun can’t help the shiver that slides down his back. Patient, Jongin waits for an answer. Sehun thinks that Jongin should already know what his answer will be.

“Do we really need a year to plan a wedding?”

The most beautiful smile breaks out across Jongin’s face, and Sehun is so absolutely floored by it that he doesn’t realise Jongin has sprinted into his room, until he’s left with nothing but air in his grasp and against his lips.

Then Jongin is back, and he’s down on one knee, and oh – there’s a ring.

“I bought this today. That’s what I was doing before I came home for dinner. My mother has never been so excited to take me shopping.”

There’s a wave of tears threatening to spill forth because my goodness, how could they have been _so_ _stupid?_

“I love you so much,” Sehun whispers, joining Jongin on his knees. “I’m so sorry for –”

“Just say yes,” Jongin interrupts. Sehun can see love etched into every pore on Jongin’s face and it’s like seeing the other man for the first time in his life. “We can apologise to each other as many times as you want _after_ you say yes.”

“Yes,” Sehun says thickly, “of course yes. A million yesses would never be enough.”

The ring slides onto his finger, a thin row of diamonds embedded between flat silver, and it fits perfectly. Of course it does, Sehun thinks, surging in for another kiss. Of course it does.

**Author's Note:**

> i did my best to keep as many details about the NYCB, Juilliard, and MSM true (e.g. buildings, courses offered, etc.). also, Vivi is a girl in this fic because i thought it would suit the fic better!
> 
> i remember some anons being very unhappy over the links i include at the end of my fics so...  
> here's one! [this](https://assets-img.nestiostatic.com/unit_photos/originals/b4bcfc73af8fd1cc86651a055081c395.jpg?fit=max&h=1000&w=1000&s=42fc9dbd999a26e2e883b72b5f24397a) is their current apartment :) jongin has the master suite because he needs more room for his stretches!  
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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